The Search for Life and Death
by Umbrae Calamitas
Summary: When Harry is rescued from the Dursleys, deaf, mute, and barely alive, the others must help him cope with years of abuse and his new disabilities. A bond and new powers awaken in he and his friends. Full summary inside. Fifth year AU. Slow moving.
1. The Nightmare

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for being so patient in waiting for me to post this rewrite. I do apologize that it took so long, but there were some decisions that needed to be made, which I was… unsure about. ^^ I liked both. Choosing between the two was difficult.

Now, however, I have finally finished the first chapter of the rewrite of _The Search for Life and Death_. I said in the most recent Author's Note at the end of the original version, updates will be slow due to other tasks that I am undertaking over the summer. They will, however, come, of course.

Much thanks to my beta, Elenaiel, and my dear friend, 87, both of whom helped me greatly with this chapter.

I hope you all enjoy it and will grace me with your lovely reviews.

**Summary: **When Harry is rescued from the Dursleys, deaf, mute, and barely alive, the others must help him cope with years of abuse and his new disabilities. As a strange bond awakens between he and his friends, they all come into powers that haven't been seen in millennia, while suffering from dreams about strange artifacts and a white phoenix named Life, who holds the secret to Voldemort's destruction, or his victory.  
**Genre: **Drama/Adventure/Romance/Angst  
**Rating: **T  
**Warning: **Violence, gore, dark themes, and slash  
**Pairing(s): **Remus/Sirius, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Luna.

As always, my friends…

_Live long. Live well. Write.  
_

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**I**

**The Nightmare**

In a normal-looking neighborhood, on a normal-looking street, there sat an eerily-normal-looking house. In fact, the house was so _normal_ in appearance that most who glanced at it might assume that the suffocating _normalness_ was put on.

They would have been right.

Within this façade of a house, there lived a family of four. Vernon Dursley was a large beefy man, who vaguely resembled an obese gorilla, minus the neck. Petunia Dursley, once Petunia Evans, seemed to have somehow gained the neck that Vernon lacked, thereby making her reminiscent of a giraffe, or a very thin-framed horse. Their son, Dudley Dursley, greatly resembled his father, but might be likened to the magicked-hybrid of a pig and a whale.

That is, of course, if the Dursleys tolerated anything of the _abnormal_ sort, which they did not. No, the Dursleys of Number 4 Privet Drive were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Except where the fourth member of the household was concerned.

Those of you reading this may be of the Wizarding sort, and so you would not find the fourth resident of this small, innocent, _normal_ house in Little Whinging, Surrey, to be of any vast difference from yourself. If you, however, happen to be a Muggle – well then, you may be of the same mind as the Dursleys.

The boy was nothing more than a _freak_.

Utterly abnormal and of the sort that no one would want to associate with or, worse, be seen with in public! No, that would not do; not at all.

This was why the fourth resident of the Dursley household remained a secretive party to most. In fact, only one other person on Privet Drive knew the true identity of the second child in the care of Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

This boy was almost the same age as Dudley – a few months younger. That, however, is where the similarities end.

Harry James Potter was Petunia's nephew, and therefore Vernon's nephew by marriage, as well as Dudley's cousin. Despite their blood relation, however, there was no bond of love between Harry and his relatives. At one point in time, he may have offered them the love and trust that only children can give to another, but their constant disregard for his needs, both physical and emotional, destroyed that bond long ago. Harry James Potter didn't like staying under the care of his relatives, though he never objected.

The Dursleys _hated_ Harry Potter, and they made sure he knew it.

Harry was a small boy; smaller even than his father had been at his age. This is, in part, due to the fact that Harry inherited his mother's lithe frame, even though most people see only his father in him, except for his vivid green eyes. His small form, however, was also partially due to the fact that Harry was given just enough food that he wouldn't starve to death, and he shared part of this with his pet owl, Hedwig.

Hedwig was a snowy owl, and one of the most beautiful creatures in the world, in Harry's opinion. Although he would never say so in front of the phoenix, Harry thought that Hedwig's beauty might even rival that of Dumbledore's own companion, Fawkes.

This was probably because Hedwig was only the second present that Harry had ever received in his life, since coming to live with the Dursleys. The first present had been a cake baked by the kind half-giant, Hagrid, who was also the person who bought Harry his owl.

Pure white, with flecks of black across her feathers, Hedwig blended in spectacularly with the snowy grounds of Hogwarts during the winter season. Over the Christmas holiday, when Harry remained at the school in order to further avoid returning to Privet Drive, Harry liked to stand outside and watch his beautiful pet fly carelessly across the sky, wishing he could do the same.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was where Harry spent most of the year. On his eleventh birthday, Hagrid had given Harry the letter that had been kept from him for weeks prior, compliments of his magic-hating relatives. When Harry had finally received his letter, life seemed to have finally taken a turn for the better.

Even when he was home over the summer, Harry was always able to look forward to going back to school come September. It made the summer just bearable enough to survive.

Well, it _had_.

But Harry wasn't sure that returning to Hogwarts was a good idea.

The previous year, his school had been host to two other schools – Beauxbatons and Durmstrang – and the TriWizard Tournament. The school had also, unwittingly, been host to a Death Eater spy, who had made certain that Harry Potter was entered into the tournament, despite the restrictions, and that he made it through to the end and grasped the trophy within his fingers; the trophy-turned-Portkey, which transported him to a graveyard far from Hogwarts. There, he was forced to play a part in the resurrection of the half-alive dark wizard, Voldemort.

And watch Cedric Diggory die.

Harry and Cedric hadn't been _friends_, but they had gotten to know each other a little throughout the tournament. Harry had also known Cedric from Quidditch, as he had been the Seeker for Hufflepuff, while Harry was Seeker for Gryffindor, his House Team.

But now Cedric was dead, and it was all Harry's fault.

"_It's all your fault, Harry. All your fault…"_

Those words plagued his dreams and now, more recently, his waking moments. Spoken in the voice of his dead classmate as Harry witnessed, over and over, the life being sucked from Cedric eyes as he suffered the very curse that had orphaned Harry all those years ago…

"_It's all your fault, Harry. All your fault…"_

"Stop it…" Harry cried weakly, but his voice was barely perceptible to his own ears. During previous summers, Harry was given a massive chore list to accomplish, and was expected to have everything thoroughly completed. Naturally, the list was far too extensive for _anyone_ to complete, and so when the Dursleys came home, Harry was severely punished for whatever chores _weren't_ done (this led to Harry trying to do all that he could within the limited amount of time, in order to evoke a lesser degree of punishment). Whatever was done to him wasn't enough to keep him down, because the Dursleys didn't want to lose their slave and, therefore, be forced to work themselves.

This year, however, things had changed. Vernon had been promoted during the time that Harry was away at school, and had also received a rather substantial raise. The majority of his money went, of course, toward his _perfect_, _can-do-no-wrong_ son, but Vernon had used some of his paycheck to have a contractor come and tear out the wall of Harry's bedroom, replacing it, minus one window.

So this summer, instead of spending his time outside weeding the garden, or downstairs cooking breakfast and filching food when he had the rare chance, Harry was confined to his bedroom. Surprisingly, the broken, battered, and all-but-forgotten mass of unused toys belonging to Dudley had been removed from the room, _because you don't deserve the chance to play with such nice things_, according to his aunt.

At least Harry wouldn't fall over something and break his leg during the night.

Not that he could get up.

No, right now, Harry was lying on a worthless mattress on the floor, the bed frame having been removed because _freaks don't deserve to have nice things_. His uncle had come in early today – or was it yesterday? – and punished Harry, because nothing around the house had been done at all.

He had, of course, ignored the fact that there were five locks on Harry's door, keeping him safe and secure inside of his room.

Harry coughed suddenly, bringing his legs up and trying to curl into a ball to ward off the pain. The spasms caused his ribs to ache unbearably, bringing tears to Harry's eyes and occasionally causing him to cry out. He tried very hard not to call out, especially in nightmares, because it often woke Vernon and he would come in and punish Harry severely.

After a few minutes, the coughing subsided, and Harry weakly stretched out again, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out. But Gods, it hurt _so bad_!

Groaning softly, he swallowed with some difficultly, his dry throat and parched lips a testament to the fact that he hadn't had anything to drink in some time. He had no clock with which to go by and could no longer see outside to note whether it was day or night, but he was pretty sure that he hadn't eaten in at least three days.

Shivering lightly, Harry pulled the frayed and barely-existent blanket around his sore body, knowing that it would do nothing to ward off the chill. The cold he felt was on the inside, as though he had swallowed a Dementor. Perhaps, even now, it was slowly – agonizingly – devouring his pathetic soul.

"_Harry… Harry…"_

"Go away," Harry demanded the voices, though his weak tone barely penetrated the air. His constant screaming had shredded his throat and now it stung constantly. His eyes felt as though they had been severely burned, perhaps with a hot poker. He had been crying a lot lately, waking from nightmares and letting the tears fall silently so that he could keep from crying out or sobbing uncontrollably. He couldn't imagine how he had water enough left in his body for tears. He was so thirsty…

"_Harry…" _

Sometimes, the voices sounded so soothing, so peaceful, he just wanted to fall away into their depths. He wanted to be consumed by darkness and the sound of someone calling his name, as though they wanted him. But no… no one could want him. He was a freak.

More than a freak. He was a murderer.

_No! No, no, no, no, no! Don't let them get to you, Potter!_

Despite the pain that rippled through his back and down his spine, Harry shook his head vehemently in an attempt to drive the thought away. He would _not_ let his relatives get to him. He was stronger than that. He was _not_ a murderer. He hadn't cast the Killing Curse at Cedric – Voldemort had. And Voldemort would do it to anyone else who got in his way, no matter who they were. Harry couldn't control the maniac. He could only hope he had strength enough to stop him.

Wasn't that what he had been doing all his life?

The Killing Curse cast on him when he was a baby rebounded back and hit Voldemort. The only reason the monster didn't die was because he was just that – a monster. There wasn't enough humanity left in him to die, according to Hagrid, and Harry had to agree.

During his first year at Hogwarts, Voldemort had somehow manifested himself – or his face, at least – on the back of their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's head. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gone off to stop Quirell, but it had been Harry alone in the end, facing the madman that had killed his parents. Once again, Voldemort escaped – a bodiless shadow, but nevertheless a threat.

Second year, an old diary had been passed to Harry's best friend's little sister, Ginny, who had just started at Hogwarts. Thanks to Lucius Malfoy, stuck-up Pureblood and Death Eater extraordinaire, Ginny had nearly died. Ron would have been devastated if that had happened, and it had been Harry, again, who had gone off to defeat the reforming memory of Tom Marvolo Riddle – a younger version of Lord Voldemort, as the _man_ called himself. Ron had been left along the way, unable to continue, but Harry was glad, as he wasn't sure his friend would have survived the battle. Harry had very nearly died himself, having been bitten by the Basilisk in his efforts to slay it. Only quick thinking and great kindness from the phoenix, Fawkes, had saved Harry from a swift-approaching death.

Harry's third year, surprisingly, had been the least-dangerous, even though a mass-murderer and escaped convict was supposedly after him. As it turns out, there had been a mass-murderer and _Death Eater_ in his presence since his first year, but Scabbers the rat – Peter Pettigrew or Wormtail, all masks aside – was too much of a coward to attack Harry without assurances of protection from a greater power. From what he had heard, Pettigrew wasn't that efficient with a wand, anyway. He had, however, escaped, thereby ruining Harry's chances at living with his godfather, Sirius Black.

Sirius.

Harry missed his godfather. He thought about him a lot, when the pain wasn't so excruciating and he was able to concentrate. Sometimes, Harry was lucky enough that Uncle Vernon's punishments knocked him unconscious. This usually led to two things: one, Harry got a decent amount of sleep without waking up screaming from nightmares; and two, Harry dreamed of happier times at school with his friends, or of Sirius coming to get him and taking him away from this awful place. But they always ended the same way.

He woke up.

Sighing, Harry tilted his head so that he could see the door out of the corner of his eye. It was dark in the room, but his eyes had adjusted after a couple of days enclosed within the shadows. He searched the floor for any bowls of food or water that might have been pushed through the cat-flap. He couldn't remember if he had fallen asleep or if consciousness had been holding him this entire time, but he was desperately hoping for something to eat. His stomach _hurt_ and it made it hard to concentrate on much of anything.

Vivid green eyes, reminiscent of emeralds but lacking the shine that had once filled them with earnest, traveled to the cage hanging in the corner of the room. While Harry was desperately hungry, he knew that any food he gained would be offered first to Hedwig. Harry adored her; she was his first true friend (except for Hagrid), and she dealt with so much. He didn't know how she had managed to survive this long, but he had a suspicion that she had done so with sheer stubborn will and out of reluctance to leave him on his own.

Sometimes he wished Hagrid had never bought her for him. At least then, she'd be safe.

His eyes traveled back to the door, searching the floor in front of it. There was no food or water in sight; just a single object that had lain in the same spot since he'd returned.

It was a large knife – one used predominantly for dicing. The blade was newly-bought, never-used, and it glittered almost invitingly in the meager light coming from the crack under the door. If Harry didn't know about the Dursleys' vicious hatred of anything out of the ordinary, he might have suggested that it was magic. Instead, he rather thought the glitter could be likened to the hatred that often existed within Vernon's beady eyes, just before he struck.

Vernon Dursley had set it there the day after Harry had reluctantly returned from the Hogwarts Express. He'd proceeded to insult Harry profusely for the following hour and then explained that if he wanted to do his "freaky friends" a favor, he should just kill himself and get it over with.

Harry wasn't that far gone, yet.

_No, not "yet," _Harry corrected. _I'm not that far gone, _period_! Nor will I ever be!_

He tore his eyes away from the knife. The day that it began to look enticing and like an escape, Harry would know that he had finally been driven mad.

Still, he had his doubts that he was entirely sane. Vernon had spent the last two weeks brutally beating Harry with every blunt instrument he could find. His head had been slammed into the wall so many times that the he suffered from an endless, biting headache that often forbid him from what little sleep he might have gained otherwise. He did have to admit, though, that his constant migraine might be in part due to the fact that his scar hadn't stopped burning since Voldemort had risen back from the ugly and half-dead. Now he was ugly and alive. _Wonderful. _

After every beating session, as Harry waited for the darkness to claim him, he made a checklist of every part of his body that hurt and what he thought was injured and how. He'd had enough experience in the Hospital Wing that he thought he was at least partially qualified to diagnose himself.

From what he had gathered from his own ability (or rather, inability) to interact with his surroundings, Harry determined that he had any number of cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, a dislocated shoulder, one black-eye (possibly two, he didn't have a mirror with which to look, but his face hurt to the touch), and numerous cuts all over his body. He had to fight to remove his shirt, as the blood would clot around the cloth and removing the fabric would rip open old wounds. Harry was also certain there were still strangulation marks around his neck from the week before, as his flesh there was extremely tender. There was something wrong with his left wrist, as it hurt like hell every time he moved it, much less tried to pick something up. Currently, he was having difficulty moving _at all_, but he was pretty sure it had only been a few hours since Uncle Vernon had last visited him, so that made sense.

All in all, Harry thought that he was worse off than all of his Quidditch screw-ups combined. He had a bit of a laugh at the irony of that, but it had made his chest hurt, so he stopped.

Harry shut his eyes tightly as a wave of pain rolled over him. Though it hurt even to breathe, the sudden onslaughts were agony in comparison and had been going on for what Harry assumed had been a few days now, followed closely by a deathly chill. Harry knew he was sick. How could he not be? - he hadn't slept more than two hours at a time since he returned to the Dursleys' (except when he was knocked unconscious), he hadn't eaten in half a week (give or take a few days), and he had to ration his water carefully, as he was given precious little of it.

Harry flinched involuntarily, as he heard the front door slam open, and regretted the movement immediately, as pain lanced through him. Uncle Vernon was home, and from the sound of it, his day hadn't gone well. He would be up to visit Harry soon, no doubt.

With that thought in mind, Harry began the slow, agonizing task of rising to his feet. The action took far too long to be remotely healthy, but Harry dared not complain. He did his best to keep from crying out whenever Uncle Vernon beat him, because his cries would only be interpreted as a request for pity and would serve only to anger his uncle further. Luckily, his screams over the last few beatings had rendered his voice almost non-existent, so he didn't have to struggle so hard to remain silent.

Harry desperately wished he had some way to contact the Wizarding World. He needed help; he would be the first to admit it. The summer wasn't half over yet and he knew that if he didn't get out of here soon, he was going to die. He wouldn't be surprised if Uncle Vernon tried to starve him to death pretty soon (perhaps they had started already?). He had no doubt that the man was capable of executing a teenage boy. He had certainly threatened enough times, hadn't he?

"BOY!"

Harry felt his breath quicken, his chest aching as a feeling of utter dread passed over him. He could hear Uncle Vernon's footsteps as he came up the staircase. He was coming closer… he'd be here any minute…

Not for the first time that summer, Harry thought of Hermione. Her parents were both Muggles. She had a phone. Harry didn't know her number, but he knew that if he called the Operator, he could have his call transferred to her phone. Then he could talk to her, have her call for help, and someone could come and get him out of there, away from the Dursleys!

Even without the padlock on the door, Harry was fairly certain he didn't have the physical strength to overcome four bolt locks. Uncle Vernon had thrown all of his "freaky shit" into the cupboard under the stairs. Harry didn't even have his wand. He knew he would have risked being expelled from Hogwarts just to escape this Hell. He didn't want to die…

The thought of the phone in the kitchen – so close but so far – made Harry ache inside. It was a pain deeper and more noticeable than the dull throb that had begun to consume his every waking moment. If only he could somehow get to the phone, he could call for help.

He needed help.

But he was trapped in this room, a burden on the darkness. His only visitors were the nightmares that stole his only chance at peace, and Uncle Vernon, as he walked through the door with a brand new baseball bat in his hand.

_Batter up._

_

* * *

_Hermione Granger awoke in an icy sweat, her thick, frizzy brown hair slicked to her face with the remnants of terror – at what, she did not know. Her chest felt constricted and her breath came in shallow gasps of fear, which alerted Hermione to how terrifying her dream – _nightmare_ – must have been, because she knew that one's breathing slowed down when they were in a state of sleep. She had read about it in one of father's psychology texts.

Shivering, still feeling that fearful chill inside, Hermione kicked the covers off and crawled out of bed. She grimaced as she felt the sweat-drenched blankets peel from her skin and knew that she would have to wash them later that day.

For a moment, she simply stood in the center of her bedroom, taking everything in. Nothing was out of place but for the blankets cascading to the floor. Her textbooks were all back in her trunk, organized by last year's class schedule, and all her homework was neatly tucked away and completed. Her desk was bare but for the bit of parchment she had out to remind herself to write Ron and Harry each a letter (and perhaps one to Viktor Krum in Bulgaria, as well). Not a space was left open on any of the three bookcases in her room, and she nodded absently at them, as though they might respond like the one near Madam Pince's desk in the Hogwarts library.

She shivered again, and her mind came back to the present.

Pulling a crimson housecoat over her light blue nightgown, Hermione slipped into a pair of fuzzy red socks with golden puffballs she had received from an aunt for Christmas last year. Satisfied at her barriers against the cold, she descended the stairs to the first floor, and made her way into the kitchen.

The house was silent, telling Hermione a number of things. For starters, both of her parents were gone, because her mother would have been singing as she fulfilled whatever task she had yet to accomplish, and her father would likely have been trying to invent some new form of toothbrush that was quieter than all of others (therefore meaning that all of the prototypes would have to be extremely loud).

The second thing that this told Hermione was that it was past nine o'clock in the morning, as that was when her father left the house (her mother left at eight o'clock to go and open the Dentist Practice).

The third thing that this informed Hermione was that she was late waking up, which was very unlike her.

Generally, Hermione awoke around six o'clock (the same time as her parents) and would be up and talking to her mother as the woman made breakfast, or humoring her father by testing his prototype electric toothbrushes. She would eat breakfast with her parents, before saying good-bye to them as they both left at their own times, and then she would either do her homework or, seeing as that was complete, read a book.

Hermione released a violent sneeze, shocking herself so suddenly that she could only blink for a moment. The sound seemed to hang in the air of the silent house and she sniffled in annoyance once she had regained her thoughts. Hugging her housecoat tighter around her body and pouting in a stroke of immaturity that she would not have let her friends see her indulge, she was reminded of the cold that she had acquired the previous day. She had gone to the dental office to visit her parents and one of the patients just _had_ to cough on her. That was all it took.

_I hope you enjoy your root canal today, Mr. Porter, _Hermione thought somewhat sadistically. She sniffled again and released a small growl. There was little she hated more than getting sick.

She had been attempting to sleep off the worst of the cold, but so far it had failed to leave her, as demonstrated by her violent sneeze a moment before. Conceding to the fact that she wasn't really tired and would probably not be able to go back to sleep (not that she hadn't slept enough, goodness knows), Hermione began to search for some breakfast.

She had been pulling her mother's homemade lasagna from the refrigerator when she felt a cold chill pass over her. It wasn't like the chills she had been getting all day from her insufferable cold. It seemed icier... more vicious. _Almost like a Dementor… _

Oh, what was she thinking? Dementors? Here? Hermione had to smile at that. Even in a Wizarding village, it would be unlikely to see the abysmal creatures, not so much clothed in ragged cloaks, as being made of palpable shadows. The horrid demons (for how could they be anything less?) were assigned to guard Azkaban, the horrible island-prison that Hermione personally thought had no right to exist. The isolation of imprisonment on an island in the sea might have been punishment enough, but to add to the prisoners' misery the presence of creatures that drained from you every sliver of happiness and left, in its place, your every horrible thought and memory… Years ago, Hermione would have thought that adults could never have been crueler than the children she went to school with who had teased her for her love of books.

She knew better, now. It seemed that as a child grew _out_ of innocence, they were sadly capable of growing _into_ cruelty.

Hermione shook her head, banishing the thought. No, there would be no Dementors here. Ignoring the fact that it was a Muggle neighborhood, the Dementors were far away at Azkaban, leisurely draining all happiness from the poor prisoners of that foreboding stone fortress. Hermione didn't need to see the prison to know it would be cold. She thought that she could feel the very chill of its existence at the calling of its name.

_Azkaban…_ she shivered, annoyed with herself, but unable to shake off the terror that came unbidden with the cold spell.

She just hoped that there weren't fellow innocent people trapped within the walls of the prison, as Sirius Black had been. True, Hermione thought that the existence of such a cruel place was barbaric, but if it must exist, then she at least prayed that it no longer existed to cause sufferance to those who had committed no crime.

_Still, the Aurors that work there…_

Damn her shivering.

Hermione paused from taking the foil off of the dish. Her thoughts were dancing around various ideas, but continued to return to the chills that periodically raced through her body. True, she wasn't feeling well, and yes, she was thinking on less-than-desirable topics, but this seemed to be more than that. This was colder still than mortal sickness and cruel contemplations. This was… this was…

Dread.

The revelation struck her hard and though Hermione had never been weak, she could not find strength enough within her soul to banish the idea. The chills that swept through her were sensations of utter dread, of fear. No, no, not fear – terror. Absolute, blinding terror.

Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Hermione's mind was suddenly called back to a few days after she had returned from Hogwarts. Over a late-night cup of tea, Hermione had succumbed to her mother's request and told her of the TriWizard Tournament and her own participation within the second task. She had been placed in a magical-coma by Professor Dumbledore, and secured on the outskirts of the Merpeople City, at the depths of the lake. There, she had been safe as she waited in comfortable unconsciousness to be "rescued" by her respective TriWizard Champion. Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian champion, had also been her date to the Yule Ball, so he had been the one meant to rescue her.

To her surprise, confusion, perhaps even a little fear, her mother had offered up the exact date and time of the second task.

At Hermione's characteristic curiosity, her mother had explained that whenever Hermione was in any sort of danger, she simply felt a cold feeling of dread, which lasted until the danger had passed.

Hermione felt that cruel, icy hand finger her heart with sadistic glee.

She didn't like the implications her mind was offering. She didn't like the idea that one of her friends was in terrible danger. However, Hermione was not the kind of person to ignore the facts. True, she was never one to solely base her ideas on either emotions or hunches, but this… she couldn't disregard this. Besides, when she got a feeling, it usually led to some way of finding the facts, so why should she ignore it?

She shouldn't, of course.

True, she would feel like a fool if she was wrong. But, she theorized, at risk of sounding vain, she was rarely wrong.

Running into her laundry room, Hermione blindly grabbed a pair of pants and scrounged for the rest of an outfit, before coming up with something that would cover her. Glancing down at herself, she noted with some distaste that she didn't match, but if she was right – and she feared she was – there were far more important matters to consider.

Pulling on a coat, Hermione slipped into her sneakers and barely remembered to grab her keys before she locked the door. As she climbed onto her bicycle, she ran her mind over the prospect of getting her own owl this year, or at least talking to her parents about hooking their fireplace up to the Floo network. Conversations with Ron would be a lot easier if she didn't have to wait for someone else's owl to fly her way.

_Conversations with Ron._ No, not conversations with Harry, because Harry was no longer permitted to let his beautiful owl, Hedwig, out to fly. She remembered Ron saying that the Dursleys had caged both Hedwig and Harry up in second year, and Hermione and Ron had discussed, at the beginning of this summer, that Harry was likely unable to receive letters, or send any, when Pigwidgeon kept coming back with undelivered mail.

That was why her mind turned to Harry now, instead of Ron. If someone was in dire need of help, it was more than likely Harry. Ron had his mother and father, as well as Fred, George, Percy, and Ginny to watch over him.

Harry didn't have anyone. Not there at the Dursleys. Privet Drive, Hermione reasoned, was probably more a prison than a home.

Hermione was grateful that she only lived two miles from the busy side of town (not that the busy side of town was _busy_, at all). Shelly's Tavern was located in the center of the commercial area, and it was the only place within twenty miles that had a fireplace hooked up to the Floo. There were only three or four witches or wizards living anywhere near the tavern, but Hermione didn't personally know any of them, so she couldn't ask to use their Floo and save herself the ride. She did wonder how the bar managed to stay in business, and she hoped they didn't make their money by charging people to use their fireplace.

She grimaced as the cold wind buffeted her and she felt the tingling in her throat that hinted she would be regretting not wearing a scarf later. She'd be lucky if she didn't end up with strep throat or bronchitis. _Perfect for the holiday,_ she thought, as she coasted down a steep hill.

Hermione had been thinking of who to contact about this feeling. Her first thought had been the Weasleys, but their image was immediately overshadowed by that of Sirius Black. He was, after all, Harry's godfather. If he hadn't been framed for the death of thirteen muggles and Peter Pettigrew, and sent to Azkaban for the murder of Lily and James Potter, Harry would have grown up loved and cared for. As it was, however, Sirius had escaped Azkaban only two years previous and the Wizarding World still thought he was guilty of killing that horrible little rat, Pettigrew, who was likely groveling at the feet of Voldemort this very moment.

Hermione ground her teeth, a habit her parents admonished her for regularly. Though not many people knew it, Hermione had a nasty temper, and right now it was rearing its ugly head. Peter Pettigrew had cost Harry the happiness he could have had as a child, and it enraged Hermione that she had been there when Pettigrew escaped. She should have been able to stop him!

_Lay blame later, Hermione. Right now, you have a job to do. _The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like her mother. Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm. She was almost to Shelly's Tavern. When she got there, she would Floo to Hogwarts. She wished that she could contact Sirius, but she had no idea where the man was and she couldn't risk breaking his cover, even if she had a way of contacting him. She knew Dumbledore had sent him and Professor Lupin on a mission at the end of last year, and she wondered if they had completed it yet or if they were still searching. At any rate, contacting either Professor Lupin or Sirius was out of the question, so the obvious choice was to turn to Professor Dumbledore.

She hoped the headmaster would still be at Hogwarts. Although it was the summer holidays, Hermione had her suspicions that part of the duties of a headmaster was to remain on Hogwarts grounds throughout the year. She was certain that the Headmaster himself was bound by the wards that surrounded the school, and that they were passed to the succeeding Headmaster (or Headmistress, respectively) when they rose to take their place.

Granted, Hermione hadn't read such a thing in _Hogwarts: A History_, and this was all nothing more than speculation and theoretical contemplation, but there was just something about how Dumbledore knew nearly _everything_ that happened in the school; nothing seemed a surprise to him. He wasn't omniscient, but being linked directly to Hogwarts would certainly explain a lot.

Hermione ignored the strange looks as she ran into the tavern in a bright yellow jacket and an otherwise quite colorful outfit. She noticed distantly that a number of the patrons appeared to be Muggles, and she made her way through an archway and into another room, where she found the fireplace. Not waiting to ask for permission and figuring that she would deal with whatever payments might be required on her return trip, Hermione grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fire. Stepping into the fireplace with only a moment's hesitation, she didn't even think of restrictions that might have prevented fireplaces outside of Hogwarts from linking to the school, she gasped, "Hogwarts… Dumbledore's office," before being whisked away in a flare of blue flames. (1)

* * *

Ronald Weasley woke up screaming.

The moment his brain took in the delayed fact that he was awake, he rolled over onto his stomach and lost whatever was left of the supper he'd had the night before. He heard running footsteps and then his door opening, before someone's hand gently touched his back. He continued coughing for a few more moments, heaving in attempts to regurgitate the contents of both his stomach and his mind.

He couldn't quite remember what he had been dreaming about, but he knew it had been horrible. Even when he had dreams about spiders, he never woke up screaming. He also had a very strong stomach and rarely vomited, excluding the incidents in second year. The slug-regurgitation curse was unavoidable, and Ron had a perfectly good reason for wanting to hurl after they drank the Polyjuice Potion. There was nothing more horrid that _Essence de Goyle_. Blegh…

The hand that was gently rubbing circles on his back finally brought his mind back to the present, and whoever was nearest him helped to pull him back on the bed. He heard a muttered cleaning spell and the scent of puke vanished, leaving Ron leaning back against his propped-up pillows with his eyes closed, catching his breath.

"Ron?"

His name grabbing his attention, and from a source he hadn't expected, Ron opened his eyes to see not only his mother (as he had anticipated), but also his father, as well as the twins. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny peeking in through the doorway, curious and worried, as always.

"Geez, Ron," George finally piped up, obviously deeming it _safe_ to whip out the humor, "we know you like to eat-"

"-but you really shouldn't stuff yourself to burst," Fred finished for his brother, grinning from ear to ear.

"Of course," George said, his face falling into a mock frown, "perhaps that's just what he wants us to think."

"Now, now, Ickle Ronniekins," Fred said babyishly, "Mum's cooking isn't _that_ bad."

"I have to say, though, that was done with spectacular force, wouldn't you agree, Gred?"

"Indeed, Forge," Fred replied, nodding. "Our ickle brother is a regular cannon for vomit."

"Do you suppose we could use that?"

"Have him puking on the Slytherins?"

"Sounds like a plan, doesn't it?"

"Enough, boys," Molly Weasley demanded, her stern voice unable to hide her concern for her youngest son.

The twins regarded each other with curious looks, wondering why they hadn't been told to leave the room. They looked back at their little brother. In their own way, they had been showing their concern. Ron knew that, which was why he hadn't told them to stuff it.

His eyes returned to his father and he caught that gaze almost reluctantly. As he calmed, the nightmare was coming back to his memory, though half of him wished it wouldn't. He closed his eyes for a moment and felt his mother run her fingers over his forehead, smoothing back the red bangs that were drenched in sweat and stuck to his skin. Swallowing, he forced himself to think of what the dream had entailed, and the repercussions.

"Dad," he muttered weakly.

"Yes, son?" Arthur asked, stepping closer to his son's side. There was concern etched deep within his eyes. The Weasleys were well-trained in the art of child-raising, but it was an almost null occurrence, one of his children waking up like this. The only other time he could recall it occurring was the summer after Ginny's first year. The events in the Chamber of Secrets, with that damn diary and Tom Riddle's memory… he thought his daughter would never recover. Now his son had woken up in a similar fashion, and Arthur couldn't begin to imagine what had brought on those kinds of screams. He kept his voice calm as he waited for his son to speak, but he was certain his eyes betrayed his concern.

"Could you… go to Professor Dumbledore?"

"Aww… ickle Ronniekins misses school," George teased.

"More like he misses a certain girl he goes to school _with_," Fred corrected, grinning.

"Ah, yes," George said, tapping his chin with a forefinger. "Now, what was her name again? Harley?"

"Mindy?"

"Mandy?"

"Hermandy?

"Oh, I remember," George declared triumphantly. "It's Hermione!"

"Quiet, you two," Arthur demanded sternly, immediately silencing the twins. Arthur Weasley rarely raised his voice in any fashion, and to hear him do so now must have meant that some was wrong.

Fred and George glanced at each other, and then turned back to the scene before them, uncharacteristically silent.

"Why, Ron?" Arthur asked his son in curiosity. Oddly enough, another feeling had begun to fill him, and he glanced over at his wife to see the concern less-restrained in her eyes. She was always more in-tune with Ron than he had ever been.

"Something's happened…" Ron whispered, but then abruptly broke off. Opening his eyes, he looked to the twins, whose silence had turned into seriousness upon those spoken words. They seemed now to be waiting for an explanation as eagerly as their parents. Ron's eyes traveled to Ginny, still peering in through the doorway, gripping the frame tightly in worry, her eyes locked on her youngest brother.

In an act of maturity that they rarely exhibited for fearing of looking too much like adults, Fred and George Weasley, pranksters extraordinaire, looked at each other, looked back at Ron, and then left the room. They ushered Ginny back into the hall and then shut the door behind them, leaving Ron in the presence of his parents. No doubt they would want some answers later, but Ron would gladly give them up. He wasn't sure that Ginny, however, would be able to take it. Though her crush on Harry had lessened in degree over the years, from what he had overheard his mother saying, she still cared about Harry and worried about him as much as Ron and Hermione did. He didn't know how she would react to what he was about to tell his parents.

He didn't know how they would react, either.

That thought in mind, Ron returned his gaze somewhat reluctantly to his father's face.

"Something's… happened to Harry," he said hesitantly. He felt the bed shift almost imperceptibly as his mother stiffened. He heard her take in a sharp breath, and he watched as his father's eyes narrowed searchingly, studying Ron's face.

_You would have made a great Auror, Dad._

"What's happened?" Arthur asked, his voice all business, expression stoic.

Swallowing with minor difficulty at the memory, Ron began to recount the nightmare. It had started in a dark room, him lying on an uncomfortable bed that seemed familiar, though he knew he had never even been in the room before. The slamming of a door had called his attention, before a man that he recognized as Vernon Dursley came in with a baseball bat, and began to beat him viciously with the bat, as well as his fists.

Ron had been thrown from his body, only to land on the floor in the corner and look up to see that it was Harry who was being beaten by Dursley, and Ron was now nothing more than a witness. He had been forced to watch the events play out, the nightmare-vision finally releasing him only when Dursley swung the bat at Harry's head, calling darkness.

Ron's voice finally cracked and he drew his knees up to his chest weakly, shivering despite the warmth of the room. Ron knew that Harry's home life hadn't been wonderful, but he had never thought…

And somehow, he _knew_ this wasn't just a dream. Somehow…

His mum had tears in her eyes, he noticed, but he focused his gaze on his father's face. "Dad?" he whispered pleadingly to the tense man. "Please? Will you go to Professor Dumbledore?"

Arthur met his son's eyes, feeling somehow outside of himself, before Ron's question finally penetrated his shock-induced stupor, bringing him back. Nodding to assure the boy of his intentions, he looked to his wife, taking in her red eyes and the tears on her face, and instantly knowing that she believed everything that Ron had dreamt was true. He couldn't deny that he felt the same. Ron wasn't exactly the most creative person in the world, and he would be hard pressed to come up with a fantastical thought, but to imagine _this_? No… no, this was no mere dream, he was sure of _that_.

Nodding at his wife in assurance, he said softly, "I'll be back soon," before swiftly leaving the room. He made his way into the sitting room, slightly surprised to see Ginny on the couch, her eyes focused on the open book in front of her, while Fred and George barely managed to entertain themselves, their minds obviously not centered on mischief at the moment. What a rare occurrence…

All three of them leapt to their feet the moment he stepped into the room. There were questions on their faces, but Arthur knew he didn't have the time to answer them, or the answers, for that matter.

When he turned to his daughter again, he found her eyes focused intently upon him, and he saw again that look within their depths that he had considered many times before. It was almost disturbing, in a way, the intelligence visible within her eyes. She always appeared as though she wasn't looking _at_ you, so much as _through_ you. He'd only known Albus Dumbledore capable of eliciting such a feeling before his daughter had been brought into the world.

"It's Harry… isn't it?" Her voice was quiet, gentle. It didn't hold a stammer or even fear, but rather a conviction and deep understanding that gave him pause. It wasn't so much of a question, really. She _knew_ already that it was Harry who was in trouble. She was merely telling him that she knew.

Knowing he didn't have the time to go into it now or to contemplate the depths of his daughter's mind, he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and gazed deep into her expressive irises. "Put the kettle on and make some tea, would you, Gingersnap?" he asked, using the nickname he'd given her long ago to try and ease the mood.

He didn't know if it worked or not. He certainly didn't feel anymore reassured, but Ginny merely nodded in understanding and obediently went into the kitchen to do as he asked.

Arthur turned back to his twin sons. He was prepared to stave off any questions they had ready to barrel at him, finishing each others sentences in a dizzy interrogation. Unexpectedly, however, they were silent, simply watching him and, he realized, waiting for him to give them something to do. He'd worry about the oddities of the day later, however.

"I don't have time to explain now," he said, though he was certain that they already assumed this. They were hardly unintelligent; they simply found other activities more… _rewarding_ that schoolwork. He couldn't deny that he had once felt the same. "I have to go and speak with the headmaster. Take care of your mum and Ron. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He saw them nod as he passed them, but his mind was already on its way to Hogwarts, and his body followed. Taking a pinch of floo powder, he tossed it into the fire, and, thankful that his Floo had been hooked up to Dumbledore's office for emergencies (_though I doubt they ever expected this_), called out, "Hogwarts: Dumbledore's Office," before being swept away in a burst of green flames.

--

(1) I know that the fire of the Floo is generally green, but in this particular fic, the fire is a different color, depending on the reason for flooing (as in, the wizard's intentions toward their destination), as well as other contributing factors, such as _where_ they are going and any privacy/secrecy spells the network may have to bypass. It is likely to be touched on and explained later in the fic.

In any case, in hopes to stave off your curiosity, the flames here were blue because Hermione was flooing to Dumbledore's Office, and his fireplace would be personalized much like he is (and Dumbledore has always seemed a "blue-ish" person. Calm and the like). Also, you may have gotten the hints throughout the chapter that Dumbledore's Floo is not readily available to be connected to other fireplaces. The fireplace Hermione used _was not_ connected. Intervention was at work here. 

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	2. The Convincing

**Author's Note: **Welcome back, everyone, to chapter two!

I was so pleased with the responses to the first chapter. A bunch of people have placed this fic on alert (you know who you are), and I'm so happy that you're so interested, so I hope that this chapter pleases you, as well. I hope that you'll all be kind enough to offer up a review and let me know what you thought of the chapter.

Much thanks goes out to my awesome beta, Elanaiel, for looking over this chapter and making it so beautiful.

I hope you all enjoy and, as always...

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**II**

**Convincing**

Hiding in plain sight.

The act sounds daring, dangerous, and therefore, exciting beyond measure. It sounds like something a fully-trained Auror would do, as he stood beside his opponent and grinned down at the unwitting adversary, knowing he had always had the upper hand. After all, he was hiding in plain sight. He was so visible, he was _invisible_. Yeah, it sounded exhilarating.

It wasn't.

It was, quite possibly, the most ridiculously boring thing that Sirius Black had ever done in his life. Coming from a man who had spent twelve years of said life rotting away in Azkaban Prison, this was saying quite a lot.

Both an Auror (though no longer recognized as one, thanks to stupid choices, dirty traitors, and the dim-witted Ministry of Magic), as well as an escaped convict, Sirius Black was the kind of person who liked to be active and participating in the efforts against the newly-resurrected dark lord.

Not hiding.

Sirius sighed heavily in a fashion not befitting him. Head propped up on his hands, elbows resting on the top of the table, Sirius stared unseeing at the wall in front of him. His mind had wandered elsewhere, unwilling or unable to remain still, as his body was forced.

He was thinking of the dream he'd had just that night. The one that had caused him to wake up screaming in terror and anticipatory dread.

In helplessness.

"_I think I'm in love with you, Sirius." _

Those words wouldn't leave him alone. Rather, they haunted him like his own personal ghost, and they were likely to continue to do so for the remainder of his life. Remus had said those words to them. Said them and meant them with all of his beautiful, self-sacrificing heart.

And Sirius had questioned him, and rejected him.

_So very like a Black._

He shook the thought away. The voice sounded disturbingly like his father; a deep tone interlaced with shame, dancing in an air that said he _knew_ that he was more than you could ever even _hope_ to be.

_I hate it here,_ Sirius mused darkly, eyes regaining focus as he came back to himself and to the present. Leaning back, crossing his arms in front of himself, Sirius studied the kitchen with an eye that held something akin to contempt. He knew the layout by heart and could have navigated the rotting mansion in his sleep, but it was so much easier to loathe something when you could look upon it with narrowed eyes.

Ah, the wonders of the infamous Black Family Glare of Doom.

_Rot, House, rot,_ Sirius demanded silently of the stale air, his sapphire eyes filled with a cruel glee that would have made his parents smile, even though it came from _him_, worthless blood-traitor child that he was. _Rot as I have done._

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was a dark home, reminiscent of some Dracula-esque tomb, with an aura of death, pain, and undeniable hatred. It had been the home to one of the oldest, darkest, and cruelest wizarding families in England, and perhaps the world.

It was where Sirius Black grew up.

He hated it.

He had hated it when he lived here, years and years ago. The loathing was worse now, he thought. It might even border on abhorrence.

He was channeling his dear, dead mum now, he was sure.

_Even when you're dead I can't escape you, spiteful bitch, _he thought viciously.

Sirius had not had a very pleasant childhood. At all. It was quite horrendous, actually, and nothing like a childhood should be. Some pureblooded families were like that, he supposed; they put appearances above happiness. In his family's case, they put values above love. Sirius was not loved by his family, because he did not believe as they did. He was hated, because he was the family freak.

They were all dead now, but he was still a freak.

Sirius let his head drop and hit the table, trying in vain to beat the thoughts out of his mind. Unfortunately, he was a puppet, as all of his relatives, and they had begun to ingrain the thoughts into his impressionable mind at a very young age.

"Damn you all," he muttered darkly.

Running long, slender fingers through his ink-black hair, Sirius sat up again and looked around the kitchen. He was alone in the house now, asides from the crazy old house elf, Kreacher, who he would like very much to-

No… no, that led to dark thoughts and even darker actions. He was _not_ a murderer. Not, not, not.

Huffing a sigh that might have come from a dog rather than a human, Sirius pondered how to waste the day. Remus had been staying at Grimmauld Place with him for the past few days, likely to keep him company. The werewolf had his own house and Grimmauld Place was far from pleasant, but by Dumbledore's orders, Sirius had to remain in his childhood hellhole, and Remus was selfless enough to join him.

_I think I'm in love with you, Sirius. _

And it was back to slamming his head on the table.

Remus had not asked then why Sirius had refused his love. Of all the things that the werewolf could have said, Sirius would have thought he would have at least questioned the boy's reasoning behind rejecting him. But Remus had not asked, and Sirius had not told. Still, however, he remembered why.

Because Remus was a liar.

That was his reasoning, put simply, but it went deeper than that, as all truths did. Sirius had grown to be able to read people. It was a gift he had gained that had been born as a defense mechanism, used in his early childhood to tell when it was safe to speak and when it was best to run. His life at home had been anything but pleasant and he had needed to learn quickly how to defend against attacks, physical, verbal… and emotional.

When he was finally able to escape his home by attending Hogwarts, Sirius had been careful. He paid attention to everything – every little detail, every word someone said. He analyzed every spoken phrase, tried to catch every guilty look they were unable to hide. Such looks he had seen in Remus.

When Remus had first claimed his mother was ill in their first year, Sirius had sympathized. Actually, he had wished Remus' mum's illness upon his own mother, but he had then tried to reassure Remus that everything would be okay. That was what friends were supposed to do, right? He had thought so, but then he had never had a friend before, so he hadn't been certain.

The days had reoccurred, Remus needing to return home to visit his sick mother. Their concern had grown for her, through Remus. What would happen to him if his mother passed away? Would he remain at Hogwarts? Where would he live? How would he change as a person? Could he handle it?

Remus seemed so… soft, so fragile sometimes that Sirius had almost been afraid to touch him. And then… something... it would break through the mask Remus wore, a look in his eyes, almost primal. It was both terrifying to see and exhilarating to witness, but then it would be gone, and Sirius thought he had imagined it all, perhaps because he had wanted to see it.

As the year went by, Sirius began to pay attention to his friends more closely. He had let his guard down around them – something he never did around anyone - and James had pranked him horribly one night. Sirius had claimed revenge, as well as to not let James catch him by surprise so easily, and so he paid attention, watching for the sly grin, the guilty looks, the expression of fear at the idea of being caught. In the end, however, it hadn't been James he had caught lying.

Remus. Quiet, thoughtful, unfairly-intelligent Remus Lupin. It had been one night near the end of term, when Remus was telling them he had to run home to visit his mum. He seemed concerned, but when Sirius looked deeper, paid closer attention, he saw the look. It was a glance, a snatch of sight at each of them in turn, trying to see if they suspected anything of what he was actually doing – if they truly knew what was going on.

Immediately, Sirius had grown suspicious of Remus' intentions. What exactly was he doing on those nights, if not going to visit his sick mum? Sirius began to pay closer attention to him, noticing more and more about him – how often he lied.

Sirius did not like lies. He was lied to far too often at home and had learned that believing in such falsehoods only ever lead to pain. When he had discovered that Remus was a liar, that he lied every day to him, James, and Peter, Sirius had felt a wall position itself between him and Remus. Remus had felt it, too, as Sirius grew distant, confiding in him less, making efforts to avoid being alone in his presence…

That was why he had turned Remus down when he claimed that he was in love with him. Was Remus lying? Was he trying to make Sirius lower his guard so that he could get something from him?

There had been more to it than that, however. It was more than the fear that Remus was lying about his love, as well, and that Sirius would only be hurt again by someone's lies. It was the fact that Remus was a good person – too good.

Everyone had their dark side; a part of them they tried to keep hidden.

James could be cruel. It was hard to believe, as James was one of the nicest people Sirius had ever meant (though that wasn't saying much, really, considering his family). However, James had a temper and when someone did something to anger him, James did not like to forgive, and he was very good at holding a grudge. He thoroughly enjoyed pranking people for a spot of revenge, but James' pranks could turn deadly in an instant, and he was a fearful sight when he was on a rampage.

Peter was a coward, and this much he would admit to, especially under the scrutiny of a furious James Potter. Though Peter was practically a genius in Potions class, the young man had a tendency to skitter far from danger whenever there was a chance of a duel, or even a rather destructive prank war.

Sirius was suspicious of everyone, never trusting someone at their first meeting. It was something he had gained over the years of being spoken to sweetly by his mother, and then kicked in the ribs.

They lived with each other's faults, though, perhaps brought together by them. After all, they all had flaws… except Remus.

It was this which Sirius found to be the most irritating and distrustful thing about Remus. The boy was kind, generous, a bit quiet and shy, but always ready to lend a helping hand. Despite his superior knowledge in most areas, he wasn't arrogant or self-righteous, and there was no doubt that he was attractive, both his personality and physical appearance.

But there was no vice. Nothing to combat the light within him. He seemed to be almost mechanical, because there was nothing about him that wasn't nearly perfect. It sickened Sirius that he almost hated Remus for it, not out of jealousy, but because he knew that there was something more about Remus that he did not show them, and it made him a liar in Sirius' eyes.

However, that day in their third year, when they had followed Remus into the Shrieking Shack, everything had changed. Sirius had seen what was buried beneath the mask of kindness and quiet intelligence that Remus wore – something fierce… powerful… primal… and beautiful.

Sirius had returned to the Shrieking Shack under cover of James' invisibility cloak. He knew the cloak wouldn't protect him from the superior senses of a werewolf, but it was successful in bringing him safely through the passages of Hogwarts. When he reached the base of the Whomping Willow, he discarded it.

He entered the Shrieking Shack only half-cautious. The other half of him was reckless, uncaring. If he was bitten and turned, it wouldn't matter. He needed to see Remus again.

He had timed it close, dangerously so, arriving just as Remus began to turn. He'd ducked into a closet and barricaded the door effectively, just in case. The door had cracks in it, though it was strong enough to hold. Sirius stood in the claustrophobic darkness of the tiny room and watched his best friend transform into a howling beast.

At that moment, he fell in love with Remus Lupin.

The absence of this part of Remus was why Sirius had been unable to love him. How could you hope to love someone who was perfect? How could you dare to compare yourself to them? It was impossible, because it wasn't the perfections of a person that you loved, but their flaws – the little idiosyncrasies that made them who they were.

Sirius had wanted to tell Remus that he loved him. The term ended only a week after that day and he returned home for the summer. Not even his horrid family was able to drag him from his thoughts, however, as he sat at his desk, quill in hand, poised over a piece of parchment. The gears in his brain cranked ceaselessly, trying to find the words.

They never came.

How could he tell Remus that he had changed his mind? How could he explain it so that he would understand? He didn't concern himself with the idea that he would be breaking a promise to James to wait until Remus told them he was a werewolf. His mind was too consumed in the realization that he loved Remus, and that Remus was one of his best friends.

But Sirius had hurt him, hadn't he?

Remus had admitted his feelings, and Sirius had turned him down. How could he reconcile that? He didn't finish a letter and send it off to Remus that summer. In fact, during those three months, he didn't speak to him at all. How Remus must have thought Sirius hated him!

Sirius nearly cried when he thought of how he must have hurt his friend. When they returned to school the following year, things were strained between them. Remus avoided Sirius' presence whenever possible, and Sirius couldn't think of what to say. He wanted to confide his feelings to Remus, but he couldn't get close to the secret-werewolf, and when he was finally in the position to be able to tell him, Sirius could never get his mouth to work right.

He remembered constantly the day Remus had told him he loved him, and the looks of sadness and longing that had adorned the werewolf's face for weeks afterward. Sirius dreamed about that day; about the look of pleading in Remus' eyes, the hopeful tone of his voice, and more than once, Sirius would wake up crying in the middle of the night at how much pain he had caused his friend.

Eventually, sleep became his enemy. Unable to close his eyes because he would see only Remus' pain-stricken face, Sirius took to cat-napping. He would sleep in half-hour or forty-five minute increments, wake up and do something for an hour, then go back to sleep for another half-hour. If Sirius could have been able to do that all day, he might have been all right, but he'd had Quidditch practice, classes, exams, homework, and three friends that loved to prank anyone who they thought got out of line. Eventually, the dreams, memories, his suppressed feelings, and the lack of sleep finally caught up with him.

Truth be told, Sirius didn't remember a whole lot of those three weeks. He remembered how he had started to feel ill, what with the lack of sleep and not eating as much as he should have, but he chose to let it take care of itself. It would go away.

Well, it didn't.

From what James had told him, they had been playing Quidditch – in the middle of the game against Ravenclaw – and Sirius had been spending his time protecting the Chasers (especially James) from the Bludgers that the Ravenclaw Beaters were firing their way. The game was a long one, however, as both teams were extremely good, and the storm was making it hard to see. The cold had been hard on Sirius, but he was determined not to let his team down, so he never complained, even when their captain asked how everyone was fairing.

It was a long way into the game when Sirius began to falter. He was stubborn, against people as well as himself, and he had been fighting his needs. However, they finally caught up with him; when he beat a Bludger back away from James, he didn't notice the second one.

He wasn't sure if he'd passed out before or after the Bludger had struck him, but James said he was hit hard, directly in the chest, and thrown from his broom. This was a terrifying incident, considering that, at the time, he had been over one hundred feet in the air.

A number of the teachers had moved, he was told by his classmates. Dumbledore and McGonagall had seemed to be of a similar mind, as they both cast spells to slow him down as he plummeted through the air. Sirius liked to think, however, that it was Remus' genius that truly saved his life, as his friend cast a series of cushioning spells so fast on the ground that no one was sure exactly how many he used.

Sirius had been rushed to the Hospital Wing. True, the damage he could have gained from the fall had been thwarted for the most part, but the Bludger had struck him hard – too hard – in the chest. Remus and James had to be literally _dragged_ out of the Hospital Wing when they learned that a number of his ribs had been shattered, and the bones piercing his lungs had stopped his breathing.

Three days without sleep, is what James had said. Sirius would have laughed it off, but for the look on James' face. James never joked with that serious look on his face – the look that was reserved specifically to show that he was not kidding. Three days, they had waited. They had refused to go to class, but sat in the hall outside of the Hospital Wing, waiting for news. McGonagall had threatened them with everything she had, taking over two hundred points from Gryffindor for the both of them (Peter didn't want to defy the professors and continued going to class, taking notes for everyone). When she had threatened with expulsion, Remus had frozen up for a moment, meeting her eyes with a gaze of utter fear, James had related, but then his golden gaze became determined, and he simply said, "If it's necessary, Professor, but I'm not leaving."

And that was it. The threats stopped, and the professors gave up trying to make them leave. After they fell asleep in the hall on the fourth day, Madam Pomfrey finally relented, at Dumbledore's insistence, and let them sleep in the Hospital Wing.

But they still weren't allowed to see him.

A week later, she gave in again, this time without Dumbledore's insistence. Remus had to go to the Shrieking Shack that night and he didn't want to leave. The boy was near tears at the thought, and he later confided that he was afraid that if he left, Sirius would die while he was gone. So Pomfrey let them see him.

It still gave Sirius chills to remember how James described him, that emotionless voice he used to hide the pain that was too visible in his hazel eyes. He'd stated quite clearly that he thought that Sirius was dead upon first seeing him, and he was certain that Remus had stopped breathing for a time. Sirius had been pale, his lips slightly blue, his chest wrapped in bandages, and an odd bubble spelled around his mouth to help him breathe. Even with the spell, he seemed to have trouble breathing, and it terrified them.

It must had scared Remus more than he thought it would have, because he had been carried back into the Hospital Wing the next morning by Madam Pomfrey, blood covering his body, his throat nearly ripped out. He'd nearly died himself that day, and Sirius remembered waking up to find him like that, in the bed next to him.

It had hurt to move, but he'd had to see Remus. He half-walked, half-dragged himself over to the boy's side, sitting down on his bed. The movement immediately waking the wounded werewolf, and Remus' eyes had widened at seeing him. Sirius remained silent for a long time, studying the scratches and scars across Remus' arms, before meeting his eyes and whispering softly, "I'm sorry I made the wolf so mad."

And there it was. Sirius had broken his promise to James to wait until Remus was ready to tell them, and he had revealed to Remus that he knew. He knew Remus was a werewolf, and he didn't give a _damn_. He had never seen so many emotions flicker across a person's face at one time before, but he saw fear, hope, happiness, sorrow, regret, disbelief, and then again that_ love_, but then Remus had settled on cautious hope and started to ask a question, but found his voice too weak from the wound across his throat.

"Remus, I don't give a damn what you are otherwise," Sirius had replied, and then smiled. "You're my best friend, furry or bald."

He mentioned nothing about the hug he had received. More a glomp, considering it had nearly thrown him to the floor. Remus had sobbed into his shoulder, muttering "thank you thank you" weakly, despite how Sirius told him to shut up so he wouldn't damage his throat any further.

And Sirius had told him how he found out, how long he knew, and everything – everything at all.

Except that he loved him.

Sirius pushed himself to his feet, deciding that moping at the table was doing nothing but making him feel more miserable. He wondered vaguely if he would ever have the courage to tell Remus how he felt? Some Gryffindor he was…

"Coward," he muttered darkly to himself, and then trekked out of the kitchen, searching for something that still needed cleaning, or a nice cement wall he could pound his thick head against until his problems solved themselves.

* * *

There was blood on the knife.

Harry sat on the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring at the floor where the blade lay. It no longer glinted enticingly, having been drenched in blood.

He'd given in finally. He couldn't take it anymore.

And now it hurt even worse.

Burying his face in his bloody hands, Harry Potter sobbed relentlessly, trying to ignore the profound silence of the room otherwise, and the utter loneliness his actions had brought. His first friend, his dear companion, the only person in the house that didn't hate him, was dead. Hedwig was dead.

He had killed her.

He tried to tell himself that he did it for her own good. That wasn't a lie, but it wasn't making him feel any less guilty. She was too thin for an owl, her beautiful brown eyes dull and hollow, and she had begun to let out pain-filled squawks that were weak to his ears, but loud against his heart. She was dying, he knew. She was starving to death.

So he had killed her. He released her from her pain.

He'd tried to hold her through the bars of the cage as best he could, stroking her feathers lovingly, while he held the blade in the other hand. She'd eyed the weapon with those eyes of hers, so intelligent, and then she had looked at him.

Of course she knew what he planned to do.

And she didn't fight him. She knew, too, that she was fading. He could have given her all of his food, but she still wouldn't survive the summer, and they both knew it. If it had been anyone else, he knew she would have fought brilliantly, but she trusted him, loved him, and knew her feelings were reciprocated.

He'd aimed carefully and made sure it was swift and as painless as possible. He was proud of himself in that regard, though he noted that the thought was rather sick and morbid. Still, he hadn't wanted her to suffer anymore, and he had ended it swiftly. The blade had pierced her fiercely-beating heart, and he'd held her as best he could. She'd lasted for barely a second – only long enough to twitter reassuringly, before slipping away completely.

He didn't know how long he held her, but he cried every second. He loved her so much, his first friend, and he missed her already.

But at least she wasn't in pain anymore.

_Maybe you'll get to meet my parents, Hedwig, _he thought sorrowfully, _if animals go where humans go when they die. Tell them I love them, Hedwig. _Tears fell like stars from his dull green eyes. _I love you, Hedwig…_

The silence in the room continued mercilessly.

* * *

Remus Lupin had come to expect the unexpected. It helped that his past was filled with the unexpected, he having been turned into a werewolf at a young age, and then spending his school years around the biggest pranksters in the world. He'd been to the wedding of two school rivals, who no one thought would graduate without one of them killing the other, much less get married. He found out his martyr friend was alive and a Death Eater, and that his murderer best friend was an innocent convict. Yes, he was rather well-versed in the unexpected.

But he was still startled speechless when both Hermione Granger _and_ Arthur Weasley came tumbling out of the Floo at the same time.

Only Hermione's sudden violent coughing fit managed to call him back to the present reality. She looked pale, with sweat rolling down her face and a fevered glaze to her eyes. He bit his lip. Obviously, no one had told her that you shouldn't travel the Floo when you were ill, as it amplified the effects of the illness nearly ten fold.

"Here, Miss Granger," he said, helping her to her feet and ushering her into a chair, where she coughed violently some more, and then began to shiver. He conjured some tea and a blanket, wrapping her in it as she gratefully took the warm drink.

"Th-Thank you, Professor L-Lupin," she shivered. The change was palpable. Hermione was always buoyant and well-spoken. To see her pale, shivering, and stammering was a sight that floored him in its odd reversal. It sent warning bells off in his head, as happened when things didn't add up, but he had acknowledged them and let them go. This wasn't a Death Eater in disguise, or if it was, it was a very ill Death Eater. He could smell the sickness on her, and he did not envy her the chills that caused her to shiver so violently.

At that moment, Dumbledore chose to enter the office, and look at the two new visitors with a surprised look, before schooling himself. "Miss Granger, Arthur, how are you?"

The attempt at pleasantries was expected, Remus supposed, but it still annoyed him a little. Hermione was _obviously_ not well.

"I wish I could suggest that things are fine, Albus," Arthur offered, stepping forward and taking all of their attention, "but I'm concerned about Harry."

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Mr. Potter is fine, Arthur," Dumbledore assured him. "The wards on Privet Drive will protect him against Death Eaters and Voldemort alike."

"It's not You-Know-Who or Death Eaters that concerns me, Albus," Arthur offered, flinching at the use of the Dark Lord's name, but not otherwise reacting to it. His voice was a little heated as he continued, "Ron woke up this morning _screaming_, and what he saw…" He shook his head, paling slightly.

"A mere dream, Arthur. I don't think we have reason to be concerned over a nightmare."

"Sir," Hermione spoke finally, calling everyone's attention, "I had a n-nightmare, as well. S-Something's wrong." She swallowed, biting back the cough that demanded precedence. "P-Please, Professor. Ch-Check on him, at l-least?" Her cold took over at that point, and Remus refilled her teacup when the coughing had subsided.

"Albus, I think it would be smart to check on Harry," Remus offered, turning to face the Headmaster. "Even if these are only nightmares, Harry has recently gone through a traumatic ordeal, and it might do him good to see a friend or have someone to talk to. From what I remember of Petunia, she's not very… accepting of our kind. I doubt Harry would have someone to confide in at Privet Drive."

Albus sighed, reluctant to give in for whatever reason, but obviously seeing some truth in Remus' logic. To be fair, there were few who could defy the werewolf's genius, and most who did weren't intelligent enough to know how to follow someone, anyway.

"Perhaps you're right, Remus. Very well. You bonded quite well with Harry during his third year here, if I'm not mistaken, and he obviously trusts you, as he was comfortable working with you one-on-one concerning some higher defensive spells."

"It was only the Patronus charm, Headmaster," Remus elaborated, so as not to make the man think more highly of his relationship with Harry than was realistic, "and you know how he reacted around the Dementors. He needed to know it. I'm quite certain he would have gone to Severus for help if need be."

Hermione held in an uncharacteristic snort at this comment, but only just. It was Arthur, however, who spoke up in argument against Remus' comments.

"I don't think you're being fair to yourself or to Harry, Remus," Arthur noted with a small smile. "For one, Severus has a rather prejudiced view against Harry, and the boy is hardly comfortable in his presence."

"Few are," Remus muttered, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brilliantly in amusement.

"From what I have seen, Harry doesn't trust easily-"

"Now, Arthur," Dumbledore argued, but the Weasley patriarch held up his hand, and the headmaster quieted in polite curiosity.

"He doesn't, Albus," Arthur continued, "though it's an easy thing to miss. Harry seems to be a rather open person at first glance, but if you start on a topic that he's uncomfortable with, he becomes very tight-lipped. He's quite secretive concerning his knowledge of things, whether it is of himself or something that he has learned… when he probably shouldn't have."

"You seem to be speaking from experience, Arthur," Dumbledore commented, steepling his fingers and gazing thoughtfully at the redheaded man before him, who had the attention of all in the room.

"Yes, well, I'm sure you remember what happened at the beginning of his third year?" Arthur asked, and they all knew immediately what he was talking about. "Harry stumbled upon a… conversation I was having with Molly, about whether or not to tell Harry of Sirius Black's escape. He didn't say anything, until I confronted him at King's Cross, where he admitted to having heard our discussion. I wish he hadn't learned of it that way, but it got me thinking. How much do you suppose he knows but doesn't say, because he either thinks he's not supposed to know, or isn't sure how someone will react?"

Hermione was biting her lip, yet another annoying habit of hers. Mr. Weasley's comments were quite thought-provoking. True, Harry _was_ rather open with her and Ron, for the most part, but then, they were almost always present when strange things happened – stranger than normally happened at a magic school, anyway. When the discussion turned around to Harry's home-life, however, Harry did grow extremely quiet and mentioned little, other than the occasional comment that he didn't like living with his relatives. Ron thought it was because they were Muggles, mostly, but Hermione had to wonder…

"Arthur, you seem to have put a great deal of thought into this," Dumbledore noted.

"It's been on my mind lately," Arthur admitted, scratching his head. "You see, when we went to pick Harry up to take him to the Quidditch World-Cup, his guardians were… less-than welcoming." The last few words came out somewhat sarcastic, making Hermione think that Mr. Weasley would have rather said something else, but didn't find it appropriate.

"I wish you would have brought this to my attention earlier," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. "Although I don't wish to remove Harry from the protection his relatives offer, I admit that it might make his summers more enjoyable if he were able to have his friends over. If his aunt and uncle are, as you say, not welcoming to other witches and wizards, that would make it somewhat difficult."

"Albus, think about this for a moment!" Remus said, stepping away from Hermione and raising his hand in a beseeching move for attention. "If Harry's relatives act this way toward visitors – toward Harry's _friends_ – how do you suppose they treat _him_?"

"Now, Remus," Albus said, smiling softly, "whatever Mr. and Mrs. Dursley think of our _kind_, Harry is their flesh and blood and they would care for him despite what fate has brought upon him."

The sudden lack of emotion on Remus' face caused Hermione to shrink down into her chair. She did not fear Professor Lupin, but no one could deny the fact that he could be very intimidating if he so chose. Watching him now, his golden eyes taking on a fire, while the rest of his face became dreadfully expressionless, she had to draw in a deep breath to calm herself, lest she run from what was obviously a deep, oft-hidden strength in the man before her.

"Are you forgetting, _Headmaster_," Remus said in an icy tone that Hermione had never heard him use before, "what occurred to a particular friend of mine during our time at Hogwarts?" Hermione noticed that a bit of the twinkling within the headmaster's eyes had gone out, and she wondered exactly who Remus was talking about. She knew he'd only had three really close friends in school – well, four, if you counted Lily – but she doubted that he would still consider Pettigrew a friend, and Harry's parents were dead. He must have been talking about Sirius, but what exactly did he mean?

"No, Remus, of course not," the headmaster said, after a moment's pause. "I could not forget the mistake I made then, and I wish terribly that I could change it. Unfortunately, I cannot."

"I know that, Albus," Remus said, his voice calming to a tone of understanding, "but you _could_ work to prevent what might be a similar mistake."

"Or a worse one," Arthur commented. The others looked at him. "I was a few years ahead of you in school, Remus, but I remember what happened. I don't think I could forget it if I wanted to. The difference here is that he was born into that family." Arthur turned to meet the headmaster's eyes. "But you placed Harry in the care of his relatives. Truth be told, someone should have checked on the boy's wellbeing a week ago, considering what just transpired at the end of this past year."

The room was silent for a long few minutes. Even Hermione's coughing seemed to have gone into a contemplative stillness. Finally, Dumbledore let out a tired sigh and bowed his head, his eyes dim. "You are, of course, right, Arthur. Not only should I have checked on Harry early this summer, but I should have already begun making plans to have him come to the Burrow, where he could be around friends. It seems, having been distanced from the battle Harry underwent against Tom, I found it easy to forget. It is the mistake of an old fool, and one I am not keen to make it again."

He raised his head to meet Remus' eyes. "If I'm not mistaken, Remus, you arrived here only to reveal that the mission I assigned to you and Sirius has been completed." Remus nodded. "In that case, would you be so kind as to take Sirius with you to check on Harry? I'm sure you can easily appear as a man walking his dog, so as not to draw suspicion."

"Of course, Headmaster," Remus replied. "I'd like to escort Hermione to the Hospital Wing first, however."

Dumbledore's eyes regained a tad bit of their twinkle, while Hermione looked up at her former-professor in surprise. Remus smiled down at her. "Unfortunately, no one has taken the initiative to record a warning in any textbook that Floo travel amplifies illness," he informed her conversationally. "A rather negligent move, on the part of the Wizarding World, don't you think?"

To her embarrassment and annoyance, Hermione's initial response was a rather violent sneeze. "T-Thank you, Professor Lupin," she stammered weakly, and smiled softly in gratitude.

"You're quite welcome, Miss Granger," Remus replied, banishing the obsolete tea set back to the kitchens, and helping Hermione to her feet. He was quite aware of Dumbledore's twinkling gaze focused on him as he wrapped the thick blanket tighter around Hermione, as she shivered violently when she stood.

"Headmaster, if that is everything…" Remus gave Dumbledore a curious look, leaving the rest of his question unsaid.

"Yes, yes, all seems to have been taken care of. I'm sure Sirius will be happy to have a moment out of the house," Dumbledore commented with a smile, after saying good-bye to Arthur, as he returned home.

"No doubt," Remus replied, opening the door for Hermione. "I just need to get a pain relieving potion from Madam Pomfrey. Sirius has had a headache for the past three days, but Merlin forbid he ask his house elf to do _anything_."

"Kreacher has never been the most obliging house elf, if my memory serves," Dumbledore noted. "But a headache, you say? That's rather unlike Sirius."

Remus nodded. Similar thoughts had been pervading his mind lately. Even when Sirius did become ill, he wasn't the sort of person to complain about it. It had worried Remus for a time, but Sirius kept insisting that his time in Azkaban simply shot his immune system. While the theory was plausible, Remus couldn't bring himself to accept it. He didn't know why, but something felt off.

Dumbledore came around his desk and followed them down the moving staircase. "I need to make certain that Poppy has everything she will need for the beginning of the school year, as well," he explained, "but first, I believe I will need to speak with Argus." He shook his head. "It seems that two of Arthur's children left some rather potent fireworks inside a broom closet." The gargoyle jumped back into place after they had exited into the corridor. Remus and Hermione made their way toward the infirmary, while Dumbledore headed down a separate corridor, after offering a farewell.

"Professor," Hermione began thoughtfully, looking at Remus, "have you or Sirius received any letters from Harry this summer?" Truthfully, Hermione doubted that they had, but she considered that, if Harry had been able to send just one letter, he may have sent it to his godfather. In his position, Hermione thought she probably would have.

Remus appeared startled by the question, which proved her suspicions correct. "No, Hermione, I haven't," he admitted, "and Sirius hasn't said anything. Knowing him, he'd gloat for hours about his _godson_ sending him a letter." Hermione let a smile come over her face at this, but it quickly followed Remus' lips into a frown. "I thought you and Ron would be talking with Harry all summer, as close as the three of you are."

Hermione sighed, her eyes reaching the floor. "Ron's been trying, but Pig – his owl – keeps bringing the letters back, and I haven't seen Hedwig since the beginning of summer. Ron says they probably have her locked up, though."

She felt, more than saw, Remus' frown. "_They_, being the Dursleys, I presume, lock up Hedwig?"

Hermione nodded. "According to Ron, when he and the twins went to get Harry the summer before second year, Fred and George had to pick the lock on her cage."

Remus stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at the child in front of him. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Call me dense, but _what_? They caged Harry's owl? And when did the twins and Ron pick Harry up in second year? I thought Molly and Arthur would have seen to that."

"Umm…" Hermione wondered if she had, perhaps, said too much. From the concern and worry in Remus' golden eyes, however, she thought that she needed to continue that path of bluntness. "H-Harry wasn't answering their letters," Hermione began hesitantly, feeling much like a lectured child beneath those watchful golden eyes, "and I guess Ron was getting worried. He said that he and the twins drove Mr. Weasley's flying car to Privet Drive, and… and…" She swallowed hard. "Th-they had to rip the bars off of Harry's window."

Remus had gone very pale. "There were bars on Harry's window?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione replied quietly.

"Hermione, what else has happened to Harry at home that we don't know about?" Remus asked in a concerned tone.

"I don't know, sir," Hermione answered truthfully. "Harry doesn't like to talk about his home life, but I know he doesn't like it there. He never goes home for the holidays, and he always seems reluctant to leave when school ends. I… I'm worried about him, Professor."

"Right now," Remus growled softly, as he continued toward the infirmary, "so am I."

* * *

**Author's Note: **And now, ladies, gentlemen, and fic-obsessor's everywhere, I give you... the review responses!!

_**Suneh: **_Behold! Chapter two has arrived, and I hope you enjoyed it!

_**Shicken 101: **_Spock is king. ^^ I'm refraining from posting a secondary author's note up about reporting child abuse if it's witnessed or suspected. But thank you.

_**Dreamweaver: **_Ah, there is more to Ginny than meets the eye. ^^ But I'm not telling 'til I'm good and ready. Fred and George are on their way to becoming adults, as much as they might try to avoid growing up. And I wouldn't count Hermione out as the total rule-abider, yet. None of them _actually_ know what's going on, and it's better to let the adults handle it. You know that if the kids randomly showed up, Dumbledore would probably make sure they couldn't do the same thing again. Who says they're going to sit still, though? Hell, not even I know everything about this story - half the time I'm as much in the dark as you lot. Thank you for the ranty review. I hope I get another one!!

_**benihime chan: **_Voila!

_**Jai-kun: **_Arigato, Jai-kun! I vote both, at any rate. ^^ Ron and Hermione's connection with Harry will grow, as anyone who read the original version can tell you, but they will both link with each other in separate ways. Ginny's part will grow, possibly in chapter three. I'm yet undecided about that, but she _will_ gain a larger character in SFLAD than she did in OotP. I like Ginny, and I want her to be here as more than Ron's little sister who has/had a crush on the Boy-Who-Lived. And as for Vernon? Well, you may just get your wish, but that's all I'm supplying at the moment, you information-hounds!

**Author's Note: **Thank you all so much for your reviews! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I hope that you will review again (or for the first time) and let me know what you think, and, as always...

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream._


	3. The Rescue

**Author's Note: **I apologize for the wait. This semester is the most taxing that I have ever had and I desperately need a day off, but that will come soon. :) In any case, I have the second half of an incredibly difficult midterm in a couple hours, so I will make this relatively short.

An incredible amount of thanks goes out to my beta, Elenaiel who, though she has an incredibly difficult name to spell, is 10 helpings of brilliant topped with awesomesauce.

I have been trying to make sure that none of these chapters are less than twelve pages, so that when you get them, there is a good bit to read. I have been working on the next chapter for the past week, but this midterm and a paper that I had to write has halted my abilities for the moment, and Spring Break came and went _with _snow and without a break.

Some good news, however, is that which I haven't been able to tell you all, yet, as I, obviously, hadn't had an update in a while. At the beginning of February, one of my short stories was published by Necrology Shorts, an online magazine. Now that I've done it again, I feel confident in my abilities to get another short story out there soon. So while my posts may be long in coming, take heart in the fact that I _am_ working on them. I am only doing so while I try to finish some of my original work so I'm not a _completely_ broke university student. :)

In any case, thank you all for waiting patiently. I hope everyone enjoys the chapter and I hope I get to read some responses to it. As a final note, this chapter _does_ contain some dark themes and mildly graphic scenes, so that you are aptly forewarned.

And I will let you continue on with this, as always...

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**III**

**The Rescue**

**

* * *

**

Sirius had been anticipating Remus' return from Hogwarts. The werewolf had said he would talk to Dumbledore, then bring back a vial of pain relieving potion for Sirius' headache. He refused to have Kreacher make him anything. No doubt the little rat-faced house elf would poison it to please Sirius' dear ol' mum.

He had been expecting Remus' return, but he hadn't anticipated the werewolf to storm into the house in a rage that rivalled the anger he had been feeling after The Prank (or The Fluke, as Sirius had dubbed it; also known as James' Major Fuck-Up). (1)

"Remus?" Sirius asked, coming into the kitchen.

"Get your cloak," Remus snarled, golden eyes flashing in a way that left no argument. "We're going to Privet Drive."

Sirius obediently grabbed his cloak and threw it over his shoulders, as he moved swiftly toward the door. He knew not to defy Moony when he was acting like this, but he also knew what lay on Privet Drive, and so, as he walked briskly to the door, he dared ask, "Why?" He didn't look away when those golden irises focused intently upon him, still set in a fierce glare, and it was a testament to their friendship that Remus did not attack him outright for their eyes locking.

"Something's happened to Harry," Remus said, and then apparated away.

_Something_ was never a particularly descriptive word, and the only thing it managed to do was start Sirius worrying. He had never been a particularly careful person, as a child or as an adult. He was reckless and foolish, he was told, and the things that he did often put him into danger, but he didn't worry about himself.

When it came to people he cared about, however, worry was a frequent visitor. Sirius was on a first-name basis with the emotion, and it came knocking on the door at those words.

"_Something's happened to Harry."_

Tracing Remus' signature, Sirius narrowed his eyes in concentration, not having done this at all recently, and apparated only a step behind the werewolf.

Transformation-Apparation was something that Sirius had become well-practiced in over the years. Not many Animagi were able to turn into their animal forms _while_ they apparated. Sirius was the one who had actually invented the technique, but people were unaware of this, as he published the idea under the name Orion White. Asides from inventing the technique, Sirius had also perfected it, and there was no one better than he at performing it. Damn good thing, too, considering they appeared in a familiar alley on Magnolia Crescent, Surrey.

Remus hadn't even paused in his steps, but had continued walking toward Privet Drive. Padfoot trotted to catch up to him and peered up at his face, noticing the tightness of his jaw and the flashing golden eyes. He whimpered softly, tilting his head to the side.

Remus' eyes roved over to meet him, and he let out a soft sigh, before slowing mildly. "Hermione Granger," he began, looking at Sirius to make sure he knew who he was talking about, though how could he forget, "flooed into Dumbledore's office while I was there to meet him." Remus didn't know that a dog could lift a sardonic eyebrow, but apparently, it was possible. "Arthur Weasley flooed in at exactly the same moment, and we had a very interesting conversation."

Sirius huffed in that way that only dogs could manage, giving Remus a look that demanded that he not act as though Sirius was stupid.

"Perhaps _interesting_ isn't the appropriate word," Remus admitted. "Enlightening suits it better, I suppose, but not in a positive manner." Sirius whimpered softly when Remus stopped in the center of the street, his thoughts whirling. He looked down at the onyx-furred dog beside him, and wished he didn't have to say what came to his lips next. "Hermione and Arthur both seem to believe that Harry is undergoing the same treatment from his family… as you did from yours," he admitted softly.

Remus didn't know quite what to expect from Sirius at that. One anticipated reaction was for his fur to bristle, his hackles raise, and for him to emit a growl to rival the greatest demons of Hell. It was, however, the other anticipation that came to pass, when Sirius' ears flattened on his head, his tail dropped between his legs, and he pulled into himself tightly, whimpering at the memories and implications.

"I know," Remus muttered. He had assumed that reaction was one of the possibilities, but it still hurt him to see it – the pain in Sirius' eyes. He reached out and rubbed one of Sirius' pointed ears gently. "That's why we're going to check on him. Come on."

Remus found that his temper had lessened slightly. He wasn't certain if this was because of his taking the time to speak with Sirius and trying to forestall his concerns, or if his own concern was simply outweighing his anger at the Dursleys for what Hermione had told him.

It didn't take them long to reach Number 4 Privet Drive. The driveway was empty and the house was dim inside, boasting that no one was home. Remus' frown deepened. This early in the morning, that seemed off. Something felt incredibly wrong, though it probably didn't help that, within his soul, he could feel the wolf tense up, as though preparing for an attack.

Remus shuddered convulsively. He had lived with the wolf for decades, but it was often still disturbing to feel the emotions of a creature that was both him, and yet… separate.

Remus was pulled from his thoughts when they reached the step. Drawing his wand, he did not concern himself with the idea that he was breaking and entering, or using magic in the middle of a muggle neighborhood, as he cast the unlocking charm and opened the door.

The smell that hit him when the door opened was enough to make his heart pound in utter terror. He could smell blood. It was thick in the air, both sweet and revolting. Beyond that, however, he recognized the scent. It was distinctly Harry's.

As a werewolf, Remus never forgot a scent, and even now, years later, he could recall the scents that would announce the arrival of two of his best friends. Lily smelled like sugar and flowers on a rainy spring morning. He remembered James even better, having shared a dorm room with him for seven years; the boy smelled of sweat, dirt, and, oddly enough, black cardamom.

Harry's scent was a mixture of these, born from genetics and a similar disposition, crafting his own unique scent. Harry smelled of rain. Not a gentle spring rain, but the drenching downpour of a raging thunderstorm. He smelled of dirt on a hot summer morning, but also of mud as it was pounded mercilessly by a monsoon. When he was a baby, Remus remembered the spicy scent of his magic, like crushed red peppers and cinnamon, but that scent was nowhere to be found now. He hadn't smelled it, either, at school during the boy's third year. Instead, the smell was replaced by a soft smell – almost more of a texture than a scent – like tissues or feather down, and only now that he was considering it did Remus wonder what could possibly have happened to change the scent and intensity of the boy's magic.

The scent of the blood was strong against his senses, however, and he could not remain in the doorway, contemplating. He stepped into the house, though his stomach churned in revulsion. Trying to ignore his body's reactions to the overpowering scent, Remus set his keen werewolf senses on discovering where exactly Harry was located.

He moved up the stairs slowly. He wanted to hurry through the house to find Harry and stop whatever had caused the blood he smelled to flow from him so freely, but he couldn't risk letting down his guard. The Dursleys didn't appear to be home, but that didn't mean that someone else wasn't here.

As Remus continued to reach out with his other senses – listening for another person breathing, sniffing for a stranger's scent, looking for something out of place – Sirius slipped into the house behind him and transformed silently back into his human form. He moved in the opposite direction of Remus, his wand in his hand and his eyes alert. His feet carried him into the living and kitchen areas to check for other signs of life.

Remus, noting absently that Sirius had the rooms behind him covered, moved up the stairs, following his senses. The blood smelled still thicker as he reached the landing and his eyes, keen even in the darkness, took in the hall and the closed doors, no doubt leading to bedrooms.

He wanted to bypass these doors but didn't dare. Although he could not smell the presence of Harry from beyond them, there was a chance that someone else lay in wait.

The floorboards behind him creaked too softly for a human to hear, but his keen hearing – a blessing amidst the curse of Lycanthropy – caught the sound and had him glancing behind him.

His golden eyes met the grey gaze of Sirius. The man's eyes were scanning the hall, taking in the sight of the doors as Remus had done only a moment ago. He met the werewolf's eyes again and leaned his head gently to the right, indicating that he would take the two doors on that side.

Remus nodded and moved to the door on the left. He placed his head near the door jamb, breathing deeply, taking in the scents available to him.

There were two prominent scents overlapping each other, so much so that Remus could almost not tell where one began and the other ended. The smell of ground metal was common near, yet a complete contrast to, the scent of fine linen. A grainy scent met his nostrils, and he could also smell cosmetics.

Not everything that he took in matched another scent. Some things weren't definable in comparison to flowers and foods. Some things belonged in the scent of a person, but the specific smell was not a smell, but almost a personal observation – Remus could know something about them, without ever knowing _them_.

What he smelled on top of the fine linen and cosmetics was a talkative sense of distrust, the latter on his own end. There was a sense of falsehood around the scent that made the hair stand up on his neck as the hackles would have raised on the werewolf.

Beyond the ground metal and grainy scents there lied a manipulative scent. Remus curled his lip at this. It was, unfortunately, not a partial scent that he was unaccustomed to. He had received a similar level of scent from politicians, ever since he had suffered the honor of meeting the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. It caused, like the other scent, a sense of distrust within Remus, though this one was even worse, because the _reason_ was worse.

But he hadn't the time to contemplate that now, and he could smell no physical being beyond the door, nor hear a heartbeat. Glancing behind him to see that Sirius had already entered beyond the first door, Remus turned the knob and quietly slipped inside.

* * *

The first door led to the restroom.

Sirius pushed open the door and, thankful that it didn't creak, slipped inside.

He kept his back to the wall as he made his initial observations. The room wasn't overly large, but it was decent in size, and there were places enough for people to hide. He scanned the room to see if there were any spells recently cast, but found nothing that hinted at magical foul play.

His eyes screamed in protest that he still remained among the banana yellow walls and bad fruit decoration, but he opened the cupboard beneath the sink and checked. It was, although an unpopular place to hide, still large enough to house a human, and easily large enough for an animagus to hide in. All he found, however, were bottles of shampoo and bubble bath, still opened, some lying on the sides and spilling their contents on the floor of the cupboard. No wonder it smelled overwhelmingly wonderful in the bathroom.

On silent feet born of years of Auror training and even more years as an amimagus, Sirius moved to the opposite end of the room. He opened the closet door with a spell to keep silence, and found nothing but towels, toiletries, and a plunger within. He sniffed and turned away, closing the door behind him in disgust. Harry's cousin was clearly not the cleanliest person.

Sirius crept to the shower. The curtain had been drawn and, having spent too much time in muggle move theatres enjoying horror films, Sirius had saved this part for last.

He supposed that he could have pushed the curtain aside, but he could only imagine something leaping out at him and attaching onto his face, trying to suck out his eyeballs. That image happily pervading his mind, he raised his wand, and simply banished the shower curtain.

His lip curled back at what he saw. Soap scum, and loads of it, forming a film over the bottom and sides of the tub. Petunia Dursley desperately needed to clean.

The bathroom successfully checked, Sirius crept back out into the hall and closed the door silently behind him. He locked it, to ensure that no one could sneak into it while he wasn't looking, and moved down the hall to the other door.

It had five locks on it, and he had a fairly good idea of whose room this was. With a dreading heart, he cast the unlocking charm five times, turned the handle, and pushed the door open.

* * *

The first room had contained no living people, but there was enough within it to cause his anger to rise as high as his fear. A baseball bat with blood on it leaned against the wall in the closet. A hamper next to the television held towels covered in blood. Remus felt a growl rising in his throat and bit it down. The blood was Harry's and there was so much of it in this room that he both hoped they found Harry soon, and dreaded it.

Having found no one within the room or nothing that could help him now, Remus moved toward the door to go and search the room next to this one. As he left, he raised his wand and cast a spell on the master bed, before shutting the door behind him and locking it soundly.

The second room smelled like dirt, varnish, and cruel laughter. Remus knew whose room this was and entered it without much hesitation. He could handle a fifteen year old bully.

The room, however, was empty, in a fashion. There were no people save himself within the confines of the four walls, but there were broken toys, half-eaten food, empty candy wrappers, and garbage thrown all over the room. To a point, it almost made Remus ill.

Despite his certainty that he would find nothing of use – even less so than in the other room, he checked the closet (nearly getting crushed by a broken television in the process) and under the bed (those dust bunnies had rabies!). There was trash everywhere, broken games and unwanted toys, but not a single book. The teacher within Remus' soul wanted to cry, or assign detention, but he ignored it. Instead, he raised his wand and cast a spell on the room that would, hopefully, give this boy just a small bit of hope.

* * *

Sirius choked when the air hit him in the face, and nearly collapsed to his knees. He could smell the blood as keenly now as he had when he was in dog form, but other scents were mixed in now that he hadn't noticed previously, though he didn't know how.

The smell of blood and sweat hung heavily in the air like mist over a swamp, but the scent of urine and feces burned his nostrils like acid, causing him to choke and start coughing. He could barely hear the footsteps of Remus on the stairs, as the werewolf made his swift way up to the second landing. No doubt his keen senses had caught Sirius' distress, and Sirius was proven right. Not a second later, Remus appeared beside him.

"My God," Remus whispered, his voice weak with disbelieving horror.

Sirius, gathering himself, glanced up to see what Remus was looking at, and felt his insides turn to ice.

The werewolf had stepped into the room, heading toward the far corner, where a thin mattress lay on the floor. It was what lay on top of that mattress, however, that called their attention.

Or rather, _who_.

"Harry," Sirius whispered.

He stumbled to his feet and dashed into the room, only to collapse again to his knees beside the _bed_. Harry was lying on top of a thin, threadbare sheet, his eyes closed and face extremely pale. His lips were tinged a soft shade of blue and there were bruises all over his body. His left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle at his side, while his other was held over his chest, as though he had passed out while attempting to defend himself. His thin, baggy clothes were torn and covered in blood, and there were ligature marks on his neck – bruises that looked distinctly like fingers.

"Harry," Sirius whispered, reaching out a hand but hesitating. He wondered, if he touched his godson, would the boy shatter? "Oh, Merlin, Harry…" He finally brushed his fingers against Harry's forehead and felt the heat of his skin – a high fever trying to burn through his flesh. There was sweat coating the boy's skin, slick on Sirius' fingers.

Behind Sirius, Remus was standing with his wand raised, casting a series of diagnosis spells on the young boy. He swore deeply, causing Sirius to spin around. Remus never swore unless something was horribly wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, even as Remus shoved him out of the way. "Moony!"

"Sirius, move!" he snapped, causing the dog-animagus to leap out of the werewolf's way and stand, reluctantly, away from his godson. "I have to heal some of these wounds now. Most of them were inflicted recently and he's lost a lot of blood." He grit his teeth and waved his wand in a series of complicated motions, casting spells silently, as he wasn't sure he had enough willpower to speak the complicated Latin words correctly. He hadn't told Sirius that Harry's heart had already begun to fail.

Harry had obviously been beaten to within an inch of his life and simply left here to die. There was no way that anyone could have thought that the boy _wouldn't_ die without serious medical attention. Remus was worried that his meager knowledge and ability with healing spells wouldn't be enough, but he knew that unless he healed at least some of Harry's injuries immediately, the boy would be gone within minutes of arriving to the hospital wing, if the Portkey trip didn't send him into shock.

_Oh, God, no! _Remus begged, as he felt Harry's heart give out. He heard Sirius give out an abrupt cry, halfway between a scream and a sob. Snarling, Remus grabbed a broken piece of glass off of the floor and nearly snapped his wand over it as he barked, "Portus!" He grabbed Harry, then Sirius, and activated the portkey. There was a jerk behind his navel, and they were whisked away.

* * *

Ginerva Molly Weasley was the youngest member of the Weasley brood, and the only girl child. Blessed (and equally cursed) with six older brothers, she was accustomed to loud noises and having no privacy or peace, which was probably what made this all so surreal.

The Burrow was quiet.

The Burrow was _never_ quiet.

Even the twins, Fred and George, were unusually subdued, which was a terrifying thing to witness. Not only was it completely out of character, but usually when they were acting innocent, it meant you had something to fear from them. Except this time, they weren't acting, and Ginny _was_ afraid.

She was afraid for Harry.

Ron was up in his bedroom with Mum. He was still shaken up about the dream, and Ginny couldn't blame him. She had been awake, writing in her diary, when she heard his screams and had run to get Mum. She'd stood in the doorway and listened for a while, watched, until the twins, in a frightening act of maturity, had led her from the room.

Truthfully, she had wanted to argue against them treating her like a baby, until they closed the door behind them, leaving only Mum, Dad, and Ron in the room.

The living room abruptly became Brood Central. Ginny had opened up a book, but was unable to concentrate on the words. She had finally slammed it shut with a huff that reminded the twins so much of Hermione in a tizzy with Ron that they looked up in slight fear.

She hadn't said anything to them. She couldn't think of anything _to_ say. She knew what Ron's dream was about, for the most part. She had heard him crying out Harry's name in fear, before she ran to get Mum. So she knew that there was something about Harry going on in Ron's mind, but he had never screamed or thrashed around like that before. Not after his first year when he remembered about being caught in the Devil's Snare, or the Chess Game that he had told Ginny about, but made her swear to never tell Mum or Dad. His nightmares about spiders, both before and after his second year – Ginny's horrible first year – had never been so horrible.

Nothing had compared to this. This wasn't like Ron. This was like… like what Ginny had gone through, in a way, after her first year. Not just the nightmares about remembering flashes of a giant snake, or spiders, or a boy that wasn't a boy, but the _memory_ of simply… fading away…

That had been more than a dream, and Ginny was pretty sure that this was, too.

She had opened her book again and simply sat there, staring at the pages but not really reading. Fred and George were nearby, eerily quiet, and they were all waiting for someone to come downstairs and give them some sort of information. Her father had only passed through quickly, however, on his way to Hogwarts, unable to tell them anything at the moment. So Ginny made tea for her Mum and took it up to her, and then went back to the living room to sit and wait.

She was still sitting, still waiting.

Ginny's mind wandered from Ron to Harry. She was worried about them both. She and Ron didn't always get along; he was always nosy about what she was doing and who she was with, when he thought she couldn't handle something. When she _wanted_ him to know what she was doing, he could really care less, and he didn't give much stock to her opinion when it came to Quidditch. She was a girl, after all, _and _his little sister. Apparently those were the two qualifications that, if found together, meant a person was incapable of playing Quidditch.

She found herself getting angry and forced her temper into check. This wasn't about Ron's faults; it was about Ron's dream that was surely more than a dream, and Harry.

Ginny's foolish crush on the Boy-Who-Lived had faded years ago, thank Merlin. She still felt foolish at times for having one. She had thought that she was in love with a hero from story books, but she hadn't ever stopped to consider that he was more than a slayer of evil. He was a boy, only a year older than her. He was just another student at Hogwarts, but one cursed with a fame born of death, and hunted.

Her first year of Hogwarts, he'd saved her life.

She got a glimpse of the real Harry Potter that day. Sure, she had watched him all during the year, but she had only ever seen the Boy-Who-Lived.

It wasn't until after he had saved her life in the Chamber of Secrets did she realize that he wasn't some storybook hero. Oh, he was a hero, of that there was no doubt. He had saved her life, nearly at the cost of his own, but he hadn't done it for glory or because he knew he would be recognized for it – he had done it because it was right, and that made all the difference.

So no, Ginny didn't have a crush on the Boy-Who-Lived anymore. She had a crush on Harry Potter, and she was worried.

* * *

Severus Snape was not a happy man.

Now, most people would tell you that such a thing was a given for the Hogwarts Potions Master, Head of Slytherin House, Potions Professor, former Death Eater, and spy for the Light.

The truth was that Severus had, only just that morning, been in a stunning mood. He had been at his summer cottage, free of horrible Potions students, whining Slytherins, goodie-goodie Gryffindors, and one _hated_ Harry bloody Potter.

He'd woken up that morning next to his wife. Oh yes, snarky Professor Snape was indeed married, though he didn't allow that fact to be well known. Not only would that forever damn his image of being an evil, unlovable, vicious git, but his House especially was home to children of Death Eaters, and he didn't want it getting back to the Dark Lord that Severus Snape had a lover. Merlin knows what that vicious, snake-faced bastard would do to her if he found out.

But Snape's day had been ruined, his chance to spend the summer with his wife stolen away.

And by whom, you ask?

Harry bloody Potter.

Snape had been making breakfast for his still-slumbering wife when the crazy house elf appeared, wearing seventeen hats and two mismatched socks. He said that Dumbledore needed him at Hogwarts, for Potter.

Stalking down the dungeons, his robes billowing out behind him, Snape glared at anything that dared to get in his way. He had flooed from his house to the fireplace in his office, as they were connected, and he'd grabbed a box of potions on his way into the corridor. The box was levitated behind him and following at the same brisk pace that he had set. He was almost to the Infirmary when Dumbledore appeared.

"Severus."

Snape sent a narrow glare in Dumbledore's direction, which would have continued if not for the weary look on the Headmaster's face, as well as a darkening bruise. It appeared as though someone had punched the Headmaster, but that curiosity was cast aside for another time.

"You called for me, Headmaster?" Snape drawled, keeping the concern out of his own voice at what could possibly cause such a dark, worried look in the Headmaster's eyes.

"That I did, Severus. I'm sorry to take you away from Elena, but your skills are needed desperately."

"Yes," Snape said, his voice unable to hide the contempt he felt, "I was told. Potter."

Dumbledore sighed, his eyes dim and without their customary twinkle. "Yes, Severus. I'm afraid Harry _is_ the reason you're needed." He met the Potions Master's gaze with a pleading one. "I would ask you to please put aside your hatred for the boy long enough to help him. I realize that you do not enjoy his presence-"

"Headmaster, I loathe that boy's _existence_," Snape corrected sharply.

Dumbledore cast him a very sad smile. "You know, Severus, James said the same thing about you, though with differing words."

Severus reared back at the gentle accusation, recalling the memory. _It's more that he exists, really._

"You hate the boy for what his father has done to you," Dumbledore continued in his soft voice, "but you treat him the same way that you were treated. Only in this case, Severus, I feel that it is worse, because you're his _teacher_." He sighed softly, bowing his head in what seemed resignation. "Right now, Severus, you may be the only one able to keep that boy alive."

Severus refused to let any manner of emotion beyond loathing and annoyance to show, but he couldn't hide them from himself. "Headmaster?"

Those blue eyes met his, dark and full of regret. "Follow me, Severus." Dumbledore turned and stepped into the Infirmary. With a step of hesitation and a world of reluctance, Severus followed behind him.

The moved through the Infirmary until they reached a bed near the back. It was surrounded by a privacy curtain, which Dumbledore hide aside so that Severus could pass beyond it. He did so, and Dumbledore followed, letting the curtain fall closed behind him.

Severus stood at the side of the bed, staring down at its occupant. His immediate reaction was to ask if Death Eaters had somehow gotten past the wards on Privet Drive, but he knew that wasn't possible. Voldemort didn't even know where the boy lived, and if he had found out, there would have been a great deal of bragging on the part of the Dark Lord, and Severus would have known, of course. Something would have been asked of him.

No, Death Eaters didn't do this to Potter. But who-

"I'm sorry to say that I have made a grave mistake," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice burdened by weariness and pain. He placed a tired old hand on Harry's forehead, rubbing his finger over the scar. Potter didn't react at all to the touch, but remained with his eyes closed, his face deathly pale only where there were no bruises marring his skin. "I placed Harry with his relatives, believing that the Blood Magic would keep him safe from Voldemort."

"It did," Snape said, glancing up at the Headmaster. "The Dark Lord has no idea-"

"I know, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, nodding slowly. "I know, the wards worked perfectly to protect against Voldemort, and no one, save a select few, knew where Harry was staying." He met Snape's eyes, and the level of pain within the Headmaster's deep blue eyes was almost painful for the recipient of the gaze. "But I wasn't willing to listen to Minerva that first night, or any complaints thereafter, or even to Harry himself – though he never spoke aloud. Only his eyes..." He looked back down at the pale boy lying on the bed, his mouth spelled with a Breathe-For-Me charm. "I didn't want to believe that his relatives were unfit to care for him."

"His _relatives_ did this?!" Snape asked sharply, his eyes narrowing.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "Yes. His uncle, if what Arthur told me is true." Of course, none of the Dursleys were innocent of what had been done to Harry, but it was Vernon who had been the offensive party. Petunia was willingly passive toward her husband's actions, though she, too, raised a hand against the boy at times.

Dumbledore turned to Snape, his weariness and regret taking a backseat to the determined gleam in his eyes. Severus knew what it meant before the Headmaster opened his mouth. He would have been willing to offer Severus anything to help Potter, or to take anything away – even his job as Potions Master, or as spy. "I know you hate the boy, Severus, but please…"

Severus stared down at the boy lying pale and still on the sheets. The blanket was only pulled up to his waist and his shirt had been removed, showing a chest that was covered in cuts, too many bruises, black, blue, purple, and a sickly yellow mixture. The boy looked too much like James, with his unruly black hair, such a prominent feature. But looking closer, staring at him now, Severus could see how small he was – too small. He looked like a twelve year old, and damn the Sorting Hat for ever deciding to place the boy in Gryffindor.

Severus had made his choice even before Dumbledore had opened his mouth. "Of course, Headmaster," he said softly, and turned back to the old man before him. "What do you need?

* * *

Being a Malfoy takes a certain degree of skill.

One has to know how to act like a Malfoy, walk like a Malfoy, talk like a Malfoy, and, of course, _look_ like a Malfoy. It took years of training to make the transformation from _just another kid_ to _Malfoy_, but all members of their family had accomplished it, save a few.

But no one ever spoke of them.

The Malfoys were a well-known pure-blood family. If you held that name, no one questioned you. No one turned you down if they knew what was good for them. No one defied you. It wasn't smart, and it wasn't safe. Even for another Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was not just _another Malfoy. _He was the son of Lucius Malfoy, a powerful pure-blooded wizard and Death Eater. A man with a mean-streak and an even larger cruel-streak. Blood meant _everything_ to Lucius, as did appearances and obedience.

So when his son chose to defy him, he got angry.

Very angry.

Draco Malfoy was hiding in a secret passage in the wall of his mother's bedroom. She had pushed him there when his father went on a rampage through the house, blowing up random objects and a few house elves. Banishing spells were foregone in the face of cutting hexes and implosion curses. Bureaus, candles, chandeliers, china cases – nothing was safe from his wrath save the walls, spelled for such occasions of anger and venting.

Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother, was a smart witch, though she hadn't always been. She had, after all, married Lucius Malfoy, which had proven to be a grave mistake. She was realizing this now more than ever. Her son, her dear boy who she loved so much, was not his father, though he had tried for years to be. Narcissa knew that Draco had done all that he could to make his father proud; to make his father love him.

Unfortunately, nothing short of killing a god – and perhaps not even that – could appease Lucius Malfoy fully. She had learned this years ago and had taken precautions for such an incident as this. Draco was fifteen now; he would be expected by his father and others to take the Dark Mark and join the ranks of the Dark Lord.

The difference between Lucius and his son was that Draco didn't _want_ to.

In the privacy of Narcissa's room, spelled with silence charms as it was, Draco had spoken to his mother. He had confided in her despite his fear that she might turn him over to his father. She hadn't, of course. She loved her son more than anything. She would give him anything he desired.

All he wanted was freedom, and she couldn't fault him that.

He didn't want to take the Dark Mark and become a slave to the Dark Lord. He didn't want to go around killing people and pretending to enjoy it. He didn't even want to be a Malfoy anymore, with its expectations and its curses disguised as blessings. He wanted to be normal – a boy that could go to school and have _friends_, people who cared about him and not his status or money.

He knew it would never happen, of course. People would never see him as just a boy, even if he did renounce his family name. He was a Malfoy, by name, by birth, by blood.

And by curse.

But Narcissa wanted to help him, however she could. This was her boy, her son, her little dragon, and she would do everything she could to protect him, no matter the cost.

So when Lucius went on a rampage, destroying the house, killing house elves, wrecking the mask that they wore to disguise the nature of this horrid family, she pushed Draco into a secret passage in the wall that she had made, one that her husband didn't know about. She hid him so he would be safe. She hid him so he wouldn't have to take the Dark Mark and become a slave. She hid him so he could be free.

She hid him so that he wouldn't have to watch her die.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for reading and I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. I would be very interesting in reading your responses to it, so please grace me with a review. :) For those of you that reviewed the previous chapter; the responses...

**_Jai-kun: _**Mon frere, I am incredibly happy that you liked the chapter and... well, unfortunately for you, I'm also incredibly happy that it depressed you, only because I enjoy invoking emotional reactions. Sorry. :P I hope you'll continue reading. I promise there will be happiness, too. :)

**_Jessalynvix: _**Yes, it was a very cruel thing to do, and Dumbledore is most definitely going to have a lot on his plate. Not just from outside forces, however.

_**Suneh: **_Harry's parts are coming and will grow. For now, I'm merely setting the stage for it all. Everyone needs to have an equal part until I get them all together. :) As for why I killed Hedwig... it plays it's part in the story, but I have to admit, I really hate birds. As for the Remus-Sirius aspect, I'll make you a shipper, yet!

_**DraconianReviewer: **_I love Remus, and he's a very nice person. As for him being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor again, no, he won't be. For the rest, you're merely going to have to wait to see. :) And yes, child abuse is a horrible thing.

**_Someone: _**Have no worries that Vernon and Petunia will get their comeuppance soon. :) I hope you liked this chapter.

**Author's Note: **To all the rest of you that reviewed, thank you and I'm pleased that you like it. Have no fear that the story will be finished - it's simply long and may take a while. :) I certainly hope it's worth it.

Thank you, everyone, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I look forward to reading what you think.

And on that note, adieu. As always, my friends...

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	4. The Summons

**Author's Note:** I thank you all for being patient with me. Unfortunately, my Fiction professor doesn't accept fanfiction for assignments, so I'll just have to write an original story. :D With any luck, I'll publish one of them and get some money so I'll have more time to write fanfiction.

There's some broken logic there, isn't there? :P

As you are all surely aware, I do not own Harry Potter. I merely borrow the characters and pit them in my own version of trials, because I wasn't satisfied with Rowling's version of events. :D We'll see how well I do.

Enjoy the chapter!

_Live long. Live well. Write._

**WARNING!**

This chapter contains disturbing themes and images, primarily contained within the two flashback scenes (which will be recognizable as a giant mass of italicized text). Please read at your own risk.

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* * *

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**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**IV**

**The Summons**

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* * *

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Number four Privet Drive had been empty most of the day. Vernon and Petunia Dursley had decided to take their son, Dudley, out for a day to the zoo and aquarium, and for ice cream and a special dinner, because he was a perfect son and they couldn't ask for anyone better. There was no mention of how much greater he was than their filthy, horrible, _abnormal_ nephew. He wasn't a problem anymore, anyway.

"Vernon," Petunia Dursley said to her husband, as he pulled into the drive and shifted the car into park, "how will we… you know – get rid of it?"

Vernon Dursley turned his head to look at his wife, despite not having any neck, and smiled at her in a reassuring manner. "Now don't you worry yourself, Petunia. It's all been taken care of." He shut the car off and kissed his wife on the cheek before the three of them made their way into the house.

Earlier that summer, Vernon had gone in search of some help with the problem of his nephew. It wasn't enough that he confined the boy to his room for the entirety of the summer. Vernon wanted him out of the house and out of their lives, but from what Petunia told him, that would never happen so long as that boy was going to that damnable _school_. And nothing seemed capable of tearing him away from it. As long as the boy was alive, he would be attending Hogwash or whatever the place was called.

The solution had been simple.

The lingering problem was disposing of the boy's body after he had been dealt with. That was where Vernon's contact came in. Vernon didn't like the man, and he didn't trust him, but there was no denying that he would be useful. As he had put it, he had ways of getting rid of unwanted things, and he knew exactly what it was that Vernon wanted to get rid of.

The man wouldn't arrive until the next day, but that was fine. The door to the boy's room was closed and that would keep the smell in. He certainly wouldn't be going anywhere.

_Things are already starting to look up,_ Vernon thought, as he and Petunia got ready for bed. Petunia had been forced to cook dinner since the boy wasn't capable of doing so anymore, but it hadn't been any great tragedy. Petunia had always loved to cook and she was far better than the boy, since they didn't have to fear that their food might turn them into slugs on a bad day. Dudley had been sent off to his room with a movie and two bags of popcorn, and for the first time in almost fourteen years, Vernon found he didn't have to worry about what the freak might be doing in his room.

He did find himself wondering briefly, as he crawled into bed and kissed his wife's throat, whether or not the boy had actually died, yet. Vernon hadn't stopped beating the boy after he had fallen unconscious from the hit to the head – a bad miscalculation on Vernon's part. His ministrations had continued until he had been satisfied with the number of cracks and snaps he had received from the freak's body. It was a strangely powerful feeling, Vernon had found, knowing that a rib would break under the simple pressure of one foot. He wondered if he would miss that over time.

He had no worries, however, that the boy would survive. If he was not dead yet, he surely would be by morning. Vernon had needed to throw the boy onto his bed to stop him from bleeding all over the carpet. That cost a great deal more than a new set of bed sheets, and that mattress was garbage anyway.

The room would need to be remodeled and refinished, but then Dudley could have his second bedroom back once they got the smell out. Life would be so much better, not having that freak in the house. That thought spurred an excitement in his blood – the very _idea_ that they would be free of all of this freakishness – and Vernon slid his fingers over his wife's bare hips. When the two fell asleep later that night, it was to pleasant dreams devoid of freaky people, and the belief that their lives were finally free of all abnormality.

In the dark silence of their room, a spell activated.

* * *

Hermione wished fervently that she was still at Hogwarts.

She had been there, within those great stone walls, and had been so near the attainment of knowledge that her fingers _ached_ to turn a page. It wasn't until after she had returned home that Hermione had recalled wanting to look up feelings that connected one person to another. That dread that she had felt for Harry, and the feeling of having had a dream she couldn't remember…

Remus had escorted her to the Hospital Wing, as he had promised. The walk had been silent for the most part, Hermione shivering beneath the folds of the blanket around her shoulders and Remus clearly lost in his thoughts. He had received a headache remedy from Madam Pomfrey and slipped the unbreakable vial into a pocket absently, lingering in the doorway for a few moments. It was when Madam Pomfrey began a fierce lecture on how she shouldn't travel by floo when she was ill ("You should have been in bed, resting, Miss Granger!") that Hermione saw Remus slip quietly out of the door.

Madam Pomfrey had clearly not been unaware of his presence, and the conversation that she'd had with the medi-witch came easily to Hermione's mind.

_Madam Pomfrey glanced at the doorway just as it swung fully shut. With a swift twist of her thin, frail-looking neck, she'd turned back to Hermione and _hmphed_ indignantly as she concentrating on waving her wand over the girl before her. "Honestly," she muttered, either forgetting that Hermione was a functional human capable of hearing what she said or not really caring, "the way he acts you would think I didn't know how to treat a simple cold!"_

_She slipped her wand into the pocket of her apron and bustled to the cabinet on the wall, unlocking it and pulling out two vials. Hermione watched her quietly as she locked the cabinet and came walking back, all the while muttering to herself. _

"_It's not as though I spent seven years of his life treating him for bruises, cuts, scrapes, and everything those boys managed to get themselves into when the moon _wasn't_ full. If I didn't know better I would have thought that _he_ was the medi-witch and I an intern." She tsked as she uncorked both vials and handed them to Hermione. "Blue one first, then the green," she said sharply, "and mind you drink _all_ of it, Miss Granger." _

_Hermione had done as she was told, swallowing the blue first and grimacing at the bitter, rubbery taste. Madam Pomfrey hadn't given her much time to recover before she was demanding that she drink the green potion, and Hermione did, coughing once she'd done so, at the smoky flavor and the waxy feeling of her mouth afterward. Madam Pomfrey had tsked again and muttered something about time lapses between potions. Hermione had taken that the two potions she drank needed to be taken immediately after the other and she wondered why the two weren't mixed, though perhaps that would nullify the effects. She was grateful for the glass of water that Madam Pomfrey pressed into her hands, the cold liquid washing away the residual taste in her mouth. _

_Madam Pomfrey was bustling around, putting things away as Hermione stood next to the bed, wondering on many things. She was wondering where she would return home from – should she go back to Professor Dumbledore's office? She was wondering what Remus would find when he went to check on Harry (oh, she hoped he was all right!). And she was wondering why Remus had lingered for a time in the doorway, since Madam Pomfrey seemed so worked up over it. _

"_Do you think he doubts your skill?" Hermione asked. She dug her teeth into her lip afterward, startled by her own bluntness. Madam Pomfrey had turned to look at her in mild surprise, however, and there was no taking it back now._

"_No," the medi-witch said, folding the blanket Hermione had been wearing as she turned to her patient. "Remus Lupin has been a resident within my infirmary far too many times for him to question my skill." She placed the folded blanket in a closet, clearly thinking about how to word what she next wished to say. Everyone knew Hermione's intelligence and curiosity, and Madam Pomfrey knew that the girl before her would have taken more from her soft ranting after Remus Lupin's exit than most people. _

"_He cares a great deal, Miss Granger, for many people." She shut the closet door and turned to face her patient. "He loves in a way that is dangerous for him, because of the way that people view what he is."_

_A werewolf, Hermione knew. She had figured it out herself, though it didn't bother her as much as it seemed to many other people. Harry certainly didn't seem concerned about it, even after their disastrous third year, and Ron had only apparently reacted so harshly in the Shrieking Shack because they all thought Remus had been helping Sirius Black, a murderer. But that wasn't the case, and Ron had never seemed bothered about it beyond that – even the other Weasleys didn't act as though anything was different about Remus. It didn't matter. _

"_I know a great many things about the students of Hogwarts, Miss Granger – those present and those who graduated long ago. It is my duty as healer to keep their confidences, even if they do not realize that I know as much as I do. I will not break the bonds I have made for myself. I _can_ tell you, however, that Remus Lupin is a man with a heart of at least three people, who cares for many but loves a select few deeply – cherishes them and their presence, and wishes to protect them. For whatever reason, Miss Granger, you are one of those people. If he thought for a second that you would have had a cough after I was done with you, or if I would have needed to go to Severus for a potion that I did not have in my stores, he would have stayed here until all was well, or until I returned. That is simply the way that Remus Lupin is around the people that he loves. It is a dangerous level of love, but so, too, is it something to be cherished."_

Hermione sat on her bed, deeply lost in thought. She knew, of course, that Remus was a very kind man. He had been protective of the three of them, and he had taught them all a great deal. Yes, he was a professor and he was _supposed_ to teach them, but the truth was that not many professors _did_. Certainly not the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, of whom Remus Lupin had been the only decent one. He had taught them more than the rest of the DADA professors combined, and he had even taught Harry how to perform the Patronus Charm, outside of class. He _cared_, but she had not … she would never have thought to word it as Madam Pomfrey had, but it felt – right.

Hermione's musings were interrupted by a fierce and incessant tapping on her bedroom window. She twisted to see a tiny ball of feathers flying repeatedly into the glass, as though through sheer stubbornness it might be made to disappear.

"Pigwidgeon?" Hermione asked, recognizing Ron's tiny owl. She hurried over to open the window, letting the owl into the room, where he began to fly in excited circles around Hermione, making it impossible for her to grab the letter he was holding.

Sitting on the bed, Hermione sighed. "Pigwidgeon? Is that for me?"

The tiny owl hooted excitedly and flew into her arms, nibbling happily on her fingers as she extracted the letter from around his leg. "Oh, hush," she scolded softly as he hooted in disagreement at her hands being stolen away. Leaving the small owl to flutter around the room, Hermione unrolled the piece of parchment and sighed at Ron's atrocious penmanship. Until she read his words.

_Hermione,_

_Dad said he saw you at Hogwarts. Did they go check on Harry? I dreamed about him. The muggles were beating him, Hermione. Do you know ANYTHING?_

_Ron_

Moving over to her desk, Hermione dipped her readied quill in ink and began to pen a response.

* * *

"Albus, what is the meaning of this?" Minerva McGonagall asked, as she stepped sharply out of the floo, dusting ash from her emerald green robes. The headmaster stood before her, solemn-faced and weary. As Minerva looked, however, she noticed that his office was not empty.

"Poppy, Severus," she said, nodding in greeting to her fellow staff members. Poppy was sitting in a chair, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap and her face steadfastly determined to hold a neutral expression. Behind her, Severus stood with his arms crossed over his and a scowl on his face that seemed rather a bit darker than normal. Minerva regarded the two curiously for a moment before she turned back to the headmaster. "Albus?"

"I'm afraid something has happened, Minerva, of which I dare not keep you unawares." He motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Please sit down."

The Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor House had never been one to back down or to take something like a request to sit down lightly. She knew Albus Dumbledore quite well, on a variety of levels, and she did not like the look in his eyes now – a gaze completely devoid of the twinkle that normally pervaded his every waking moment and annoyed the hell out of everyone else. She ignored his request, standing quite firmly in front of him. Her lips thinned to a white line as she continued to match his gaze. "Albus?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, having expected this level of stubbornness from Minerva, but still not enjoying it. He eyed her, hoping that, perhaps, she already knew what he was about to tell her, and so he might be spared the dark task. He knew he would have no such luck, of course and so he sighed again. He took a moment to adjust his half-moon spectacles, but met her eyes solemnly when he caught sight of her growing impatience.

"I have made a mistake, Minerva," he said. His voice was a little rough from his most-recent use of it, but he ignored this. The physical discomfort of a scratchy throat was heavily out-weighed by the discomfort of having to inform Minerva that she was right. Not because she would gloat but because he knew she would wish that she had not been right, and against all evidence otherwise, she might choose to take the blame herself, rather than laying it at his feet. Where it belonged.

"It is a mistake that may have been prevented, if only I hadn't been a stubborn old fool and had listened to you in the first place." He coughed, looking away from her worried, stunned expression. It was rare that he admitted to being wrong, and rarer still that he admitted it to her. He didn't want to go on. "You were – quite right, Minerva, about Vernon and Petunia Dursley being unfit guardians."

There was a soft poof-thudding sound, as Minerva fell into one of the chairs behind her. She had brought her hands up to her mouth and her eyes glimmered in moist fear. She continued to stare at Dumbledore, and forced her hands down to speak. They lowered no further than her throat and sat there, clutching at the other until her knuckles were white.

"Not Potter," she said in a whisper. He tongue was struggling to untangle herself, to voice more words, though she did not know what she would say. Why did this moment seem so similar to fourteen years ago, when she had sat with Dumbledore on a brick wall and asked if it was true, that Lily and James were… were…

"He _is_ alive, Minerva," Dumbledore said, though his face grew no less solemn during this admittance and he looked almost reluctant at having assured her of this. "He is badly injured. Poppy and Severus have been taking care of him."

Minerva turned to her two colleagues in time enough to see Severus grimace at the Headmaster's words. He made no reaction otherwise, however, and it was Poppy who spoke up.

"It took far more time than I would have wished," Madam Pomfrey said, taking over for Dumbledore when he glanced at her, "but we managed to stabilize Mr. Potter. Remus and Black had found him."

Minerva was watching Poppy with rapt attention. The medi-witch was keeping her demeanor sternly professional, her face an emotionless mask as she spoke. Behind her, Severus had no such reserves and Minerva caught his sneer at the names of his two childhood rivals.

"Remus was trying to heal some of his wounds when Potter's heart failed." Minerva let out a sharp gasp, her hands returning to her mouth as her eyes widened. Poppy either did not hear or chose to ignore this in favor of getting all of the information out at one time. "They were forced to take a portkey to Hogsmeade. Black made it here first in his animagus form and warned me, so I was able to prepare the wing and summon the headmaster. Remus arrived moments later with Mr. Potter."

Poppy glanced at Severus with a look of deep gratitude, which he turned away from, pointedly looking away from Minerva, as well. "I admit that I was not certain we would be able to save him. He was very far gone and he is still in a great deal of danger. We were able to restart his heart and keep it going."

She refrained from telling Minerva about the second time Potter's heart had failed. She and Severus had been magically injecting potions directly into Potter's stomach in order to replenish his lost blood and fluids, and had been doing their best to repair the major damage done to him. While straightening the shattered bones of one leg, Potter had moved instinctively away from the pain. He had not been conscious – of that Poppy was certain – but he had clearly been close enough to awareness to feel the discomfort of his shattered leg bones moving around underneath his skin.

It would not have been that great of a deal if Potter hadn't jostled himself in a way that one of his broken ribs shifted and slid through the soft skin of his left lung. Poppy closed her eyes at the gut wrenching memory. The boy had still been unconscious and his movements had only indicated a mild pain – of course, it would have been a great deal more than _mild_ and the child's threshold of pain alone was disturbing – but then his breaths had turned into strange wheezes one moment, and gurgling gasps the next, and then he was choking as he coughed and sprayed blood across white sheets.

Poppy remembered Severus' moment of inaction probably better than he did himself, for she knew where it stemmed from and knew what emotions – or thought she knew, though she was rather certain in her ideas – she would have seen parading across his face had she turned to look at him. Shock, disbelief, horror, uncertainty, hatred, disgust – he hated the boy and all the staff knew it, but so too did he recognize the bruises and the damage. Or she recognized and prayed that he did, as well, because he had once suffered similar trauma, though never nearly as bad as this moment, and it was something that he should consider before condemning the boy any further. Thinking back on that moment now, she briefly wondered if he would.

The two had worked in tandem, their wands flicking swiftly, their faces set with grim resolve. Severus magicked blood replenishing, bone repairing, and various other potions directly into Potter's stomach, and Madam Pomfrey used a diagnostic spell to allow her to see the rib piercing the boy's lung, and thus extract it and reform it in place.

For a short moment that seemed more like hours tacked on the end of others before, things were smoothing out. The rib had been fixed back into proper place, the skelegro already working to mend the bone. The blood replenishing potions were certainly not yet at full effect, but Madam Pomfrey had vanished the blood from the boy's throat and lungs, and the child was breathing steadily.

And then, abruptly, his heart stopped.

The air in his lungs whispered past the boy's lips and he went completely still, as the blue pulsing light matching his heart suddenly gleamed bright blue, a steady, burning glow, before winking out of existence completely.

_Madam Pomfrey heard Severus swear in a string of words she was sure would have shamed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as she rushed forward and placed her fingers on Potter's neck. She sought a pulse that her heartbeat revealer spell might have failed to detect, but found none. _

"_Severus!" she snapped, as she pulled the pillow out from under the boy's head, tossing it toward another bed and out of the way. She waved her wand in an arching path, before ending the movement at Potter's mouth. "Aer Respiro," she said, watching as the air above the boy's face swirled and seemed to coalesce into an orb that was no more opaque or solid than it had been moments before, but was visible, almost like a bubblehead charm. She thought it might have been a variation of that same form, crafted for medical purposes. Filius surely knew, but she hardly cared at the moment. _

_Severus was waving his wand, as well, and the bed beneath Potter had stiffened. He was mumbling under his breath when he didn't need to chant a spell and Poppy had a fairly good idea that he was exercising his rather extensive vocabulary on the cruder levels. _

"_You need to cast an extensive healing spell," he said, his voice almost detached save for the sharpness displaying his discomfort with the situation, in many forms. "There is too much damage here for us to wait for him to heal on his own. The potions won't take swift enough effect." He flicked his eyes, very briefly, to her, though they returned to Potter almost immediately. _

"_I cannot cast a healing spell on…" She swallowed the thickness in her throat, unwilling to continue in that line, though they both knew her words. One could not heal the wounds of a corpse. "His heart needs to be beating, Severus."_

_There was a hesitation in him that she wanted to strangle. She'd do the damn procedure herself if he could perform the healing spell, but he _couldn't_! She opened her mouth, eyes lighting up in rage, but he stepped forward before she could say anything, his eyes still on the boy. "Prepare your damnable spell, woman." _

_She ignored his tone, the insult, and his clear distaste for what he had to do. She touched her wand with both hands, brought the tip of it to her forehead so it lay vertically across her face, and closed her eyes. She began to chant quietly. _

"_Ω, Aceso, κυρία της Θεραπείας,  
Σας εκλιπαρώ για έλεος σας.  
Δωρεάν αυτό το σώμα, και η σφραγίδα αυτών των  
πληγές μ 'ένα φιλί.  
Αφήστε τη ροή του αίματός σας για να επουλωθούν  
και να επιστρέψει σε μας.  
Σε ικετεύω, θεά μου, κυρία μου.  
Ω, Aceso, πάρτε μαγεία μου για το έλεος σου."_

Madam Pomfrey shook herself mentally, driving away the memory of those crucial moments that still had her shaken.

"Who is with Mr. Potter now?" Minerva asked after some silent contemplation, after which she was forced to clear her throat before she could speak. The hesitation gave Madam Pomfrey time to compose her thoughts.

"Remus is with him at the moment," she said, recalling the werewolf's return to the hospital wing. It had been at a very unfortunate moment, while they were still trying to restart Potter's heart so that she could activate the healing spell. Madam Pomfrey was not sure she would be able to coax the man to leave the boy's side after he had been forced to bear witness to that moment. His tears were still painful to her memory.

"I asked him to watch over Harry while Severus and I came to speak with the headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded quietly to Madam Pomfrey and Severus, though there was still a grim quality to his face. Clearly, Harry's current status was not what he had hoped for. "Was there anything else before I allow you to return to your charge?"

Madam Pomfrey looked slightly uncomfortable, as she met the headmaster's eyes. "I… cannot be certain. It's very difficult to diagnose in an unconscious patient, before symptoms begin to show-"

"Potter might be mentally damaged, though that's hardly anything new," Snape said, cutting Madam Pomfrey off. She turned to him with an exasperated look, almost appeared as though she might strike him, though she didn't. He met her gaze with an emotionless glance, but she merely pursed her lips in distaste.

"Poppy?" Minerva asked, her concern outweighing any intention she might have had, otherwise, to hex Snape for his comments.

"Nothing is for certain," Madam Pomfrey reiterated, returning her attention to the stern Transfiguration professor, "but Potter has suffered a great deal of head trauma. My diagnostic spells are similar in some regard to those of Frederick Worthington. You remember him, I presume."

"Of course," Minerva said faintly. Frederick Worthington had been a Gryffindor a year below James Potter and his friends. He was remembered in his school days for his unfortunate fascination (and failed emulation) of the Marauders and their pranking. This resulted in a great many trips to the Hospital Wing, as the boy was notoriously _horrible_ at setting pranks that he didn't manage to get caught in himself. On the Quidditch field, however, Frederick rivaled James Potter as the best Gryffindor Chaser in the span of a decade. With Alexander Paddington rounding off their trio, the Gryffindor team was a force to be reckoned with on the field.

The only problem that Frederick had was that he was incredibly adept at attracting bludgers. He frequently took them to the head.

It was this, unfortunately, that led to the end of Frederick's career as a star Quidditch player. He was out to receive a letter from various Quidditch teams asking him to play for them once he graduated, but too many knocks to the head had caused detrimental effects. He developed an affliction more well-known in the muggle world than the wizarding world, known as Dementia Pugilistica.

Headaches, tremors, loss of strength… by the time Frederick was nineteen, two years after graduating Hogwarts, he was unable to walk. Three years later, he'd committed suicide. It had been a hard time for everyone who'd known him – student and teacher alike. He had been a well-known, well-liked boy.

The idea that this could happen to Potter – to Harry…

"Isn't there anything that could be done, if this proves to be right, Poppy? Severus?"

"I'm afraid I don't know of any spells that will counteract the effects. There were none when Frederick was suffering, and I consulted many friends more knowledgeable in the field than I."

"Nor are there any potions available. There simply isn't a cure for mental afflictions such as this. We'll just have to set up a room for Potter in St. Mungo's. Perhaps near the Longbottoms-"

"Severus!" Minerva cried in shock at his words. She stared at him with wide eyes but he merely sneered in reply, which brought her concern to the forefront. Now was not the time to address him on his attitude, but she would make inquiries later.

"That's enough, Serverus," Dumbledore said, stepping calmly forward. He gave the Potions Master a warning look, but Snape did not appear apologetic and none of the three really expected him to. He merely rose to his feet with the others, ignoring Minerva's scrutiny.

"I dearly hope your fears reveal themselves to be unfounded, Poppy."

"As do I," she muttered, straightening her robes.

"We must consider it a possibility, however, and in that light, I shall allow you to return to your charge. I might ask that you send Remus to me, however, so that we may discuss plans on where Harry will be spending the rest of his summer, and beyond that, of course."

The act of speaking of the boy as though all would be right in the end did not escape Madam Pomfrey, but she was grateful for the optimism, however forced. "I will tell him that you're asking for him, though I cannot promise me will come." She glanced at Severus, but the Potions Master was avoiding her glance and, without a further word, she returned to the hospital wing through the floo. Severus took a moment to nod a silent farewell to McGonagall and Dumbledore both, before he followed the same passageway, back to his lab in the dungeons, leaving the two alone in Dumbledore's office.

"Albus, you don't think…" Minerva was wringing her hands together, her eyes staring quite some distance away, into the past.

"I dearly hope not, Minerva, and truly, that's all we can do. We must simply _hope_."

* * *

Severus Snape stormed out of the blazing floo as abruptly as a tree suddenly collapsing to the forest floor and crushing all life in its wake. His cloak billowed out behind him as he moved swiftly, his long stride carrying him across the office. His wand was out, his wrist twisting and flicking the slender stick of wood. The already-dimming fire burst into new fervor when three large blocks of wood were magically thrown into the hearth. A large green armchair slid across the floor to rest in front of the fire and a table flew over to rest beside it. Snape plucked a glass off of a shelf, flicked his wand to silence the room and lock the floo so he would not be interrupted by anyone unless it was exceedingly important.

Grabbing a half-full bottle of firewhiskey by the neck as he strode back toward the hearth, he fell into the armchair, filled the glass to the brim, and threw it back in one shot. Grimacing as the liquid burned acid down his throat, he poured himself another glass before he sat the bottle on the table next to him. Then, holding the glass in both hands, he began to brood.

This had to be the worst day he had ever had during summer holidays since he began teaching at Hogwarts. Since he had once still done a great deal of spy work for Dumbledore over the holidays, this was no small feat, but, of course, Potter could accomplish it.

Severus wipe his mouth as though to rid it of some lasting residue, though there was nothing on his lips, nothing at all signifying such an awful experience in the hospital wing, save for a memory.

_Severus truly wanted to tell himself that he didn't give a bloody damn if Potter died and just return to his dungeons, where he would brew more potions for the upcoming school year. He wouldn't need nearly as much of anything, because Potter wouldn't be around to throw himself into trouble every five minutes._

_For a moment, Severus basked in the imagining: a world without any lingering memories of James Potter. No messy black hair and stupid, clumsy children with glasses flaunting their princely fame about like it could grant them leave of death. _

_Why should _Potter_ be saved when so many others had died?_

_Emerald green eyes flashed across his mind's vision. _

_Lily._

_Sometimes, Severus Snape hated the memory of Lily Evans almost as much as he hated her son. But only because it caused so much pain to remember, and the hatred never lasted long._

_The seeming-sturdiness of the boy's chest gave under the pressure of Severus' hands. He did his best to ignore how very small and frail the boy actually was, as his hands, one layered over the other, thrust down, compressing the boy's ribcage and pumping blood from his heart. The boy lay frightfully still, his face a pale-grey color, those damnable emerald green eyes closed. Severus thanked the gods for that small mercy. He did not know if he would have been able to function under the vigilance of a second pair of dead green eyes. _

_The boy's body moved slightly with every thrust of Severus' arms, his chest compressing tightly downward and then springing back up. He stopped for a moment, he fingers moving to the boy's neck, seeking a pulse but finding nothing. He paused to let Poppy's ongoing spell feed oxygen into Potter's lungs so his brain wouldn't shut down, not that doing so could hurt much._

_Behind him, he could hear Poppy reciting a spell in Ancient Greek. His mind translated it on instinct. _

"_Oh, Aceso, Lady of Healing,  
I plead for your mercy.  
Free this body, and seal these  
wounds with a kiss.  
Let your blood flow to heal  
and return to us.  
I beg you, my goddess, my lady.  
Oh, Aceso, take my magic for your mercy.__"_

_He could feel the magic swirling through the air like a current, drawn to Poppy as the spell summoned the energies. It drew power from him, from the school, from her, and from all of the spells that she had cast. _

_Severus swore are the breathing spell she had cast flickered and vanished, drawn into the ritual healing spell she was forming now. Swearing profusely in his mind as he thrust his arms down again on Potter's chest, he hoped to restart the boy's heart without having to do anything that was any more insulting. _

_But the Boy-Who-Lived was useless brain dead. _

"_Stupid, ridiculous child. I should just let you die," he grumbled to himself, as he moved to Potter's head. Grabbing the boy's chin tightly and pinching his nose shut, he pulled Potter's forehead back, jutting his chin into the air. The boy's mouth was already open from when he had reacted instinctively, even unconscious, to choking on his own blood. Severus placed his mouth tightly over Potter's – all the while screaming internally – and exhaled. _

_Potter's chest jerked with an abrupt motion, the air filling his lungs forcing his chest to expand. The air whisked out of him with a little hiss and Severus exhaled again into Potter's mouth. The boy's chest rose and fell with the breath, and after another, Severus fitted his hands back over the boy's chest and began to pump his heart again. _

_He only needed to start the boy's heart. Even if it lasted only a moment, it would be long enough for Poppy to activate the healing spell and thus do away with the damage causing all of these complications. But the boy was proving, as always, to be difficult. _

_Potter's limbs twitched lightly at the deep thrusts of his professor's arms, but Severus tried not to see this. He remembered another time, long ago, when he had attempted such a revival technique as this. _

_It had failed then, too._

CRACK!

_Severus froze in his movements. He'd felt the shift and snap in a reverberation through Potter's torso. One of the boy's ribs had broken at the force of the compressions. Maybe that one that had already been broken and had only been healing…_

"_Severus!"_

_The Potions Master hesitated only a moment, before he thrust his hands down sharply again and continued where he had stopped. If he could just start the boy's heart, his ribs would be healed._

_The sound of a door opening and closing had not been clearly defined by his preoccupied mind, but the sudden gasp for air _behind_ him caught his attention, as did the whisper of the boy's name whose rib cage snapped again as another rib broke beneath his ministrations. _

"_Damnit, Severus, what are yo-"_

"_Kindly excuse yourself, Wolf. I'm trying to save his life."_

"_But you-"_

_The sudden jerking of Potter's head had Severus pulling away abruptly. The boy threw his head back as he gasped for a breath that flew into his lungs with a squealing sound. The boy started coughing as soon as he had inhaled, his entire body convulsing with the barks, and blood sprayed from his mouth across white sheets. _

"_Poppy!" Severus snarled. _

_The woman had already begun the spell's activation, however. He could feel the magic ripping from her, tearing across their plane and slamming into the boy like a physical force. He watched as Potter's body actually _jerked_ when the magic struck him, and then the waves of light were pulsing around him as Aceso answered Poppy's prayer. _

Severus returned to the present with a fierce snarl, swiping at his lips. Swearing viciously, he grabbed his shot glass, alcohol sloshing over the sides in his ferocity.

"Damn Potter," he cursed, and tossed the whiskey back.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The spell that Madam Pomfrey chants is written in Greek text, and the translation is correct. Aceso, mentioned in the spell, is the Greek goddess of healing. Future chapters will go into greater detail as to why Madam Pomfrey is calling upon a Greek goddess.

Something new that I have decided to start doing is suggesting a favored fic of mine each chapter. This will from now on be a constant thing each chapter. _Please_ do not review or PM me for the sole purpose of asking if I will suggest your fic. Fics suggested will be those that I love a great deal and, perhaps, yours will simply end up being one of them.

Today's choice of fic suggestion is...

_Backward With Purpose Part I: Always and Always_, by Deadwoodpecker. Definitely worth the read and worth staying up until dawn every morning, reading until your eyes cross. ;)

Normally, I would take the time to reply individually to the reviews with questions or comments on specific points. However, I just pulled a 12 hour shift today and I'm very tired. I did want to get this chapter up for you all to enjoy before I went to bed, however, so you'll all just have to deal without the comments. ;)

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I will appreciate any and all reviews, just as I appreciated those for the previous chapter. :)

And I bid you all a goodnight.

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	5. The Dreamers

**Author's Note: **Welcome to Chapter Five! I'm thrilled to be posting this today. I considered waiting a little bit, but Thanksgiving is almost here (for my fellow American readers) and I thought that a bit of a gift wouldn't be passed on by you lot. ;)

I hope everyone enjoys the chapter and I look forward to receiving your ever-loved comments and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**V**

**The Dreamers

* * *

**

**- WARNING -**

This chapter contains some violence. Please be forewarned.

* * *

He was flying, the wind billowing around him, caressing his body as he cut through it, an old friend, a comrade, a force that he knew he could turn to. There was no broomstick beneath him, he did not need it. The wind was his companion, his friend, his lover, and she would not let him fall.

Harry's arms spread out at either side of him and his eyes were closed as he reveled in the feeling of the wind rushing around him. He would never weary of this sensation, never tire of the freedom it brought to his body, his spirit, and his mind.

"_Harry…"_

Harry opened emerald green eyes to gaze forward through the oblivion in which he flew. The voice that called him held a tone of sorrow, and somehow Harry knew it was because the sensation of flying was leaving him, and the voice – whoever it was – was sad to take that freedom from him.

"_Harry…"_

He could feel the free winds lessening in their strength and power, gravity returning to this world which existed and yet did not. He was righting in the air and coming down, and he could feel, as though it were being crafted by a god beneath his very feet, the ground reach up to catch him. He found his balance on it as his bare feet touched down and, as he looked down at the ground, he saw that he wore no shoes, and the only thing that covered him was a simple black robe. He had never owned something like this before, and he didn't think that he had ever seen someone wearing a robe like this. Why was he?

"_Harry…"_

"Yeah?" Harry looked up, searching for the source of the voice.

The oblivion through which he had been flying was slowly taking shape. With gravity had come the earth beneath his feet, not cold, hard stone but soft, grainy dirt that shifted under his feet. As he stood, he could feel blades of grass growing, pushing up from the ground to curl around his feet, undeterred in their growth. They were strong. He could not stop them – not alone.

"_They lie beneath you, these blades."_

Harry's emerald gaze still sought the voice, but he could not find the source. His world was still dark beyond the forces that had appeared, however. Only the blades of grass, the dirt, and the tree growing steadily behind him were available to his eyes. The rest was deeper even than darkness – far more than his eyes could take in.

"_Do you seem them, Harry Potter – how they grow, shifting to sprout from the deep earth, heedless of the barrier you make." _

"Yes. I see them." It seemed odd to him, talking to a disembodied voice, but how could he not answer? Obviously, there was _someone_ here. He wondered briefly where _here_ was.

"_They are Death Eaters, Harry Potter – each and every one."_

_

* * *

_

In his dreams, Sirius often forgot that he wasn't driven mad by the Dementors. He forgot that he snuck out of Azkaban to kill Peter Pettigrew. He forgot that his animagus form helped to stifle the effects of the Dementors. He forgot that Remus didn't blame him for Lily and James' death. He forgot that Harry had wanted to come live with him. He forgot that he wasn't completely mad.

But he remembered that the muggles had hurt Harry. And he remembered that Harry's heart had stopped.

In his dreams, Sirius was mad. His hair was long and ragged, his skin sour-white and stretched over his skull, and his eyes were wild. Every breath he drew rattled into his lungs, and he held a wand in a white-knuckled hand.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley lay on the ground before him. Petunia looked younger than she probably should have. The last time Sirius had actually seen her face-to-face was in Lily's seventh year of Hogwarts. She looked like she had then and, if he listened to what his mind was trying to tell him, he knew that wasn't quite right.

Vernon was far less defined than his wife. Sirius had seen pictures on the walls of the house in his peripheral vision and had taken what little he gathered from there and the distant image in his memory from when he had seen Vernon that one time before Lily and James had died, standing far away from them and waiting on Petunia, his fiancé at the time. At the moment, Vernon looked little more than an indistinct blob of multi-colored flesh, but in his dreams, Sirius didn't notice and it didn't matter. The screams were real enough.

"What you did to him was inexcusable!" Sirius screamed. Apparently, he had been screaming this a lot, because his throat was unbearably sore. His hand shook as he leveled the wand at the two before him, though from rage or exhaustion, he didn't know. He felt tired in an oddly distant way, but the rage was pure and true.

"You don't deserve to be called _human_!" Sirius snarled. "You're _beasts_!" He slashed the wand through the air like a sword and heard their screams turn into howls. Their bodies shifted, bones cracking and breaking and molding into new forms, as fur sprout all over their bodies and they shrank down on all fours, until they were cowering before him, a pair of dogs.

"Curs!" he yelled. He remembered the word with a sick fondness. It was one of his mother's favorite nicknames for him. "Beasts!" He slashed the wand, and again, and again. Growls, snarls of pain, howls of agony, the wand cut shapes into the air and opened bleeding mouths in their bodies until the two had collapsed on the ground. Petunia lay in a panting heap, and for the most part, Sirius left her alone. His attention was on Vernon Dursley, and he slashed the wand again.

A snarl, the man-dog snapped at him, teeth spraying saliva. Sirius parried with the wand, jabbing it forward. A rush of crimson light stabbed Vernon in the throat and he reared back with a long, yelping whine. Sirius slashed the wand over his body, fur flying as crimson gashes appeared across canine flesh, each accentuated by a sharp yelp or whine. Sirius ignored the cries, or perhaps reveled in them, and slashed the wand again and again.

"_You're right, of course – Petunia Dursley was negligent in her duties of caring for her nephew. Harry should have been loved and treated as family. That was why I sent him there. They are the last of his relatives and, as such, I thought that they would cherish his presence in the loss of Petunia's sister."_

"_Well, you were wrong!"_

"_As I am well aware, Remus, and if I could take it all back, believe me in that I would. Time cannot be reversed." There was a moment of silence. "Don't look at me like that, Remus. You know what I mean. It's dangerous." _

"_Everything involving Harry seems to be dangerous. Why not do just this one thing, Albus? Just this one time – protect him. Stop it all before it happens." _

"_I'm sorry, Remus, but I can't do that. I can't risk it. So much has happened, so many things could go wrong. Things are safer in this moment, Remus – safer without changing the past and the future blindly. Things will be all right once Harry wakes up." _

"_They might not." His voice was a whisper, a plea full of pain. "So much, Albus. He's suffered so much, and how could we not see it?"_

"_I was blind, my boy. Blinded by… a desire for things to be one way and unwilling to admit they were not."_

"_I just don't understand… how can someone be so willing to hurt a child? How could Vernon Dursley ever do such a thing to a little boy? And Petunia – I knew she didn't like Lily, but to allocate this kind of abuse? Any abuse!"_

In the distance, Sirius heard the conversation go on, but he had stopped listening to it in the background of his punishments. He roared with anger over the body of Dursley, still in canine form. He was more red than grey now, his flesh opened up with pulsing wounds that bled freely. He lay on the ground, legs twitching feebly, a low, fading keen in the back of his throat. He had hurt Harry – beat him – treated him like filth – kicked him – called him awful names – made him think he was worthless – HE WAS A MONSTER!

Sirius whipped the wand, bringing it slashing downward over both Vernon and Petunia, an explosion of light erupting from the tip of it, consuming both of them. There were startled yelps, then screams, and then silence. Sirius' eyes regained focus as the lights faded. Nothing remained but black charred spots on the ground, and the feeling of being relieved that they were gone and disgusted with himself and happy that he had done something to keep those _people_ from ever hurting Harry again.

But who was the monster now that they were gone?

Sirius looked down to find his hands bloody. The wand had vanished – he didn't know or care where to – and his hands were caked in blood and grime. He stared down at them, and chuckled. Of course, who else would be the monster than the freak of the Black Family, who had done everything to avoid being what he had become? Who else? WHO ELSE?

Sirius began to laugh, and as he laughed, he also cried, because there really was no escaping it, was there? He was a monster, and he was mad.

In his dreams, he forgot this wasn't true.

* * *

The blades of grass had shifted, curving inward, and growing to wrap around his ankles. Harry ducked down to pull at them as they wrapped around his feet, but as he tore at handfuls, more sprouted to replace them, and soon both of his feet were covered in blades of green, green grass – blades which began to crawl up his legs.

"_They represent the forces of the Dark Lord Voldemort – the Death Eaters who follow their lord without question, without complaint. They are many, Harry Potter – many and too many for you to survive. They will kill you, Harry Potter, if you stand alone." _

The blades had reached his knees and were still growing, still crawling upward. Harry tore at them to no avail. They were so many…

"_And you do stand alone." _

"Please, let me go!" Harry turned his head frantically, searching for the voice, but there was no one there – no one at all. "Please!"

"_I do not hold you, Harry Potter." _Sorrow and regret was all the voice revealed – and the tiniest, most insignificant grain of hope. _"You hold yourself in a position of defeat, Harry Potter – it is you who stands alone, by your own account. It is you, by your own choices, who will die from these Death Eaters."_

The blades curled around his hips, digging deeply and cutting into him. Harry whimpered.

"_You have but one option." _

He pulled hard on his legs, trying to tear his feet away from the grass's hold. It only succeeded in causing him to lose his balance. Some of the blades of grass tore as he fell backward with an _off! _landing softly and, much to his surprise, against the trunk of a tree.

The tree that had been steadily growing behind him was now massive, nearly as large as the Whomping Willow. In fact, it was a great deal like the Whomping Willow, with a wide, rough trunk and vines hanging down from the limbs.

The limbs, though, weren't nearly as ugly and bulbous as those of the Whomping Willow. Some, Harry saw, were larger, while others were very thin and didn't look like they'd hold up against a gentle rain. That seemed odd to Harry, that a tree should be so mismatched.

"_This is not an ordinary tree, Harry Potter. It is the Tree of Bonds."_

"The Tree of Bonds?"

"_Yes. It is a tree that rests in the hearts of all living creatures, revealing to those who can see it the bonds they share with others. Friendship, brotherhood, and love. The strongest of bonds are those thickest and hardest to break, while the weaker bonds are thin and can be snapped easily. _

"_If you wish to defeat these Death Eaters, Harry Potter, and not fall prey to their mass, you must nurture the Tree of Bonds that rests within your own heart. Each branch, each bond, must become thick and strong, for the Tree is there to catch you, Harry Potter, and if you give it strength, it will have strength in return to give."

* * *

_

There were a multitude of things that one had to do as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Some were more rewarding than others, and a few were simply downright trying. But there were those select few which were incredibly dangerous to perform.

Trying to contain Sirius Black in a room was one of them.

"Let me see my godson!" The former Azkaban-attendee threw himself against the glimmering blue-white shield that encircled him like a dome. The shield pulsed as his body came in contact with it, reacting to the energy that flowed throw him, but failed to give at all. Sirius punched and kicked the shield a few times, bursts of blue light exploding at the contact. He screamed in rage. One of the picture frames on the wall erupted into flames. Sirius ignored it.

"Has anyone ever considered the similarities between Sirius and an eight year old child?"

"His bouts of accidental magic during these episodes are certainly rare for someone his age," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers as he watched the man.

"I wouldn't advise telling him that. I'm sure he'd find a way to use it to his advantage."

Remus and Dumbledore sat in the latter man's office, watching as Sirius fought a futile battle with the shield. The man had fallen asleep from stress-induced exhaustion (and a little help from a drugged cup of tea, courtesy of Madam Pomfrey) in the hospital wing after he'd arrived with Harry. He'd awoken after Madam Pomfrey had returned from her discussion with the headmaster and two professors, and had found himself in the odd position of playing mediator between she and his werewolf friend.

In an effort to shut him up and get Sirius on his side, Remus had told him about the scene he had walked in on. Harry's heart had stopped beating and Snape – _Snape!_ – had been performing CPR on the child! How could anyone dare to have let it come this far? And Dumbledore, who had sent Harry to leave with those _monsters_, wanted to see Remus right now. Right now, when he was fully intending to never let Harry James Potter out of his sight ever again. The man dared to presume far too much.

But the recount had pulled Sirius to his side, and Remus had turned and stormed out of the hospital wing in a very un-Remus-like manner, though he had done so only after checking on Harry. Content to leave him in Madam Pomfrey's care for a short time, for the boy was doing remarkably better despite the earlier incident, Sirius had followed Remus to Dumbledore's office.

One look at Dumbledore, however, and Sirius passed Remus, storming toward the headmaster with the sole purpose of letting him feel the same pain that Harry had been under. It was Remus' quick actions which stopped the man from punching the headmaster as he had done when they first arrived, angrier than he was now. For his part, Dumbledore hadn't moved to defend himself. He looked quite content to accept his punishment without raising a hand against it. Remus had no doubt that if he had let Sirius continue, Dumbledore would not have held it against him.

Now that Sirius was confined within the dome-shield, the two calmer personalities in the room were permitted to speak.

"You realize this wouldn't be quite as bad if you hadn't told him about Vernon's direct actions in harming Harry?" Remus asked, remembering the conversation that Dumbledore had had with them after they'd arrived with Harry. It hadn't sunk in to Sirius then, Remus could tell, but it apparently had now. He would imagine the nightmares had something to do with that. Sirius had always been overly-prone to them.

"Yes, I'm realizing that now," Dumbledore admitted, some amusement tingeing his voice. "Today seems to be a day of mistakes, however."

Remus glanced over at the old wizard and the wide, dark bruise over the headmaster's eye. He winced at the memory. The headmaster had walked into the hospital wing not ten minutes after they'd brought Harry in and Remus had turned out and simply punched the man in the face. "Albus, I'm sor-"

"Mr. Lupin, if you insist on apologizing, I may be forced to give you detention," Dumbledore said, and his eyes twinkled lightly as he regarded Remus. "In your position, Remus, I fear that I would have done far worse than punching me in the face for my blatant negligence. You withheld yourself admirably, and this is nothing to be overly concerned about."

"You still could have allowed Madam Pomfrey to heal it." The werewolf looked away in shame, despite the elder man's words.

"Poppy has her charge, and he is in far more need than I," Dumbledore admitted. Recalling the discussion back to Harry dampened the mood, and both men sighed.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the sedative did nothing to calm him down," Dumbledore said, watching as the curtains behind Sirius spontaneously combusted, and the man pushed over a table and started kicking it in a rage. "If his relationship with Severus is anything to go by, Sirius certainly knows how to hold a grudge."

_You have no idea, _Remus thought quietly. "Still, I think he woke up in a worse mood than when he fell asleep." It really was a pity the drug hadn't kept him asleep longer than a couple of hours. It would have had most people out for nearly eight, but Sirius just had to be difficult.

"It was not a dream-suppressing sedative," Dumbledore said. "I honestly had not thought to give him one, though considering what he had just learned, it should have been foremost on my mind. I've no doubt he had dreams about Vernon Dursley's treatment of Harry. It wouldn't surprise me if there had been a great deal of comparison in his mind, between Vernon Dursley and Sirius' mother."

Remus grimaced, but said nothing. He had come to the same conclusions himself some time ago. Dumbledore began to speak again after a moment.

"I am pleased that Sirius has had someone like you as a friend, Remus. I'm certain that it has made a great deal of difference that someone in his life would care for him. It's good for Harry, too, that you're there for him. He needs someone like you in his life."

Remus sighed, shaking his head. "I haven't done anything for him, really, except for this, and the fact that I waited so long…"

"See, that is where you're mistaken," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Arthur Weasley was not wrong in what he said this morning. Harry trusts you. More, in fact, than he trusts me, though I hadn't cared to look before he brought it up." Dumbledore's face grew solemn. Considering what he had put Harry through by foolishly placing him in the care of his aunt and uncle, Albus could hardly blame the boy at all. "Remus, I have a favor that I feel I must ask of you."

Remus looked at Dumbledore expectantly. "I have made mistakes with Harry, sending him to the Dursleys to live, in hopes that the blood he shares with his aunt and cousin would protect him. I have succeeded in protecting him from Voldemort, but it is clear that Harry must be kept safe from _all_ who would do him harm, and that is something that I regret I had not considered.

"The Will that Lily and James wrote before fears of betrayal caused them to change it named Sirius as Harry's godfather, as you know – something that did not change in the rewritten version. However, with the possibility of something happening to Sirius which kept him from taking care of Harry, the three of them agreed that _you_ were to be named his legal guardian."

"Me?" Remus gaped at the headmaster. "But Albus, you know that law states a werewolf cannot have guardianship over a child!"

"Yes, Remus, I do know the law in that regard. However, it states that a werewolf cannot have _sole_ guardianship of a minor." Dumbledore offered a smile that seemed a little smug.

Remus stared at the headmaster. It was quite clear that he was planning something.

"Because of Sirius' current status in the eyes of the Wizarding World, we can obviously not name him as secondary guardian, or enact the Godfather bond described in the Will." That truly was a pity. "However, the two of you are the best options for guardians of Harry and I can't say I can think of anyone better to have him live with."

"But the law…"

"The law can be dealt with by simply naming a secondary guardian of Harry and having this guardian fill out the proper paperwork stating that his living quarters are with you."

"I don't suppose that you have someone in mind?" Remus asked, smiling softly. The headmaster's manipulations of the law through loopholes never ceased to amaze him, and he was not the first to wonder if Albus Dumbledore was, in fact, a Slytherin.

"Yes, actually, I do. I'm afraid you do not know her, Remus, though I wish I had thought to introduce the two of your beforehand. Elena Morely is an acquaintance of mine who has been performing some errands which I was unable to complete myself, for reasons I am not at liberty to disclose right now. Now that we are getting the old crowd back together, I hope she will accept my invitation to join the Order of the Phoenix. I think she will be a great asset in the war against Voldemort."

"Elena Morely." Remus let the name roll off of his tongue. "I don't recall ever having heard of her. Did she attend Hogwarts?"

"No. Elena did not attend a traditional school. She was apprenticed, for a time, though I will leave the details for her to divulge at her leisure and wish. I believe Elena would be more than happy to sign on as secondary guardian to you. Due to the nature of the law, she would be forced to dwell in the same household as long as the secondary guardian status remains, but I don't think we should have a problem finding a place where you can live comfortably without imposing upon one another too much."

Remus was grinning. He trusted Dumbledore, of course, but he hadn't thought that he would have been able to become guardian of Harry, despite Dumbledore's words. If someone signed on as secondary guardian, though, and lived there with them – it would be legal!

Remus' smile faltered at a thought. "Albus, what about Sirius?" Would the headmaster force Remus' friend to live somewhere else, away from his godson?

"Elena is well aware of the current search to find Sirius," Dumbledore said. "She is also aware of his innocence and that he must remain hiding. I think Harry will be pleased to have his godfather around, and Elena will keep his existence a secret."

Remus released a sigh of relief. Things were actually looking up. He and Sirius would be able to live with Harry. With a secondary guardian, the Ministry wouldn't be breathing down their necks because of him being a werewolf, and Harry would be safe from his aunt and uncle. Remus just hoped that when Harry woke up, their fears would be unfounded and he would prove to be fine.

"There is one other thing I must tell you about Elena." Dumbledore's words interrupted Remus' thoughts and he turned to look at the headmaster. "Elena has a son who will be moving in with her. He is younger than Harry and will be starting at Hogwarts this year."

Remus was smiling softly. He remembered clearly being an eleven-year-old about to start Hogwarts. He was sure the boy was excited, and incredibly nervous.

"His name is Conan," Dumbledore continued. "I don't imagine his presence there will be an issue, but I did want to bring it up and forewarn you before you agree to Elena signing the documents. Conan is well-behaved but… full of curiosity. He truly enjoys learning."

"Ah." Remus understood what Dumbledore was _not_ saying. The boy was curious, and Remus was a werewolf. It would not be impossible for one to add the pieces of Remus' life together and discover such a fact. Hermione Granger herself had done it when she was thirteen. "Do you think it likely that he will figure it out?"

"I believe it possible that… others will hint toward the truth." Remus frowned at him in some confusion. Dumbledore sighed. "Elena is very open-minded and tries to ensure that Conan is, as well, but the boy looks up to his father greatly and I worry that, in some cases, he will emulate his father's more… unsavory traits in order to please him."

Remus was confused. Was Elena's husband not going to move in with them? "Who is his father?"

Dumbledore seemed to consider, for a moment, whether or not it was wise to answer. Finally, he sighed. "Severus Snape."

* * *

"How do I nurture it?"

"_Build your bonds, Harry Potter – strengthen the love you have for others and that which others have for you. If you allow yourself to be aware of the Tree of Bonds within your heart, it will show you its brother, who rests in the heart of another. When two Trees of Bonds are nurtured by the heart of another, they may join, and in so doing, shape the other. Magic is from the heart – the soul – Harry Potter, and the Tree of Bonds is your soul. It is your magic." _

Harry looked up at his tree. So it had always been here. It hadn't just sprouted from the ground moments before. He had only now just become aware of this magnificent force that dwelled within him, but as he stared up at his tree, he realized that his was not so grand to the studying eyes.

The bark that covered the tree was torn off in places, leaving bare spots that occasionally leaked sap in some places. Full branches were bare of vines or leaves. There were some vines that were thick, but many were very thin and some others were snapped in half or off completely. The tree looked… sick.

"_The Tree of Bonds is _you_, Harry Potter. To nurture and heal the Tree within your soul is to nurture and heal yourself. To do so is to find your strength, your hidden power, and yourself. It is planted in your existence, Harry Potter. Help it grow and the Tree – your heart – will never fail you."_

The voice whispered away, fading from the world that wasn't a world in which he was in. Harry did not need to see the source of it to know that it was gone. He ignored this for the moment, reaching out to touch the bark of the tree – his Tree of Bonds.

He didn't really understand how a tree could be his soul and be him, and he wasn't sure exactly how he was supposed to _nurture_ it, but he could see that the tree was here, and he could see that it needed his help.

So he would do his best, to nurture it, to help it grow stronger, and maybe the voice – whoever it was – would be right, and he would gain power from that, as well. He knew he would need it for the fight against Voldemort.

Harry knew that he would nurse his Tree of Bonds as best he could, in hopes that it would grant him strength – perhaps, a new ability that would help him to defeat Lord Voldemort.

And perhaps he was right. Perhaps one the Tree was grown, it would give him new abilities. What he did not expect, however, was to wake up missing two.

Dumbledore was about to continue in what he knew would be a futile attempt to placate an even more enraged Sirius by explaining how Snape could possibly have a wife (and a child!) nobody knew about, and, in Sirius' words, why anyone would want to breed with the snarky bastard. He was about to explain to Sirius – again – that he trusted Severus Snape with his very life and, as he had told Severus himself countless times before, Sirius was foolish to hold a stupid schoolboy grudge even after all these years.

He was about to begin this lecture when the floo flared, and three pairs of eyes turned to see Madam Pomfrey standing just beyond the fireplace, looking both pleased and concerned. She met Dumbledore's eyes when the man looked her way and sighed.

"He's awake."

* * *

Malfoys didn't cry.

It was a rule – one of the most important. _Do not show weakness to the world – your enemy. No emotion is to be shown._ Malfoys didn't cry.

But Draco _was_ crying. He was crying because he was hurting, both inside and out. His left arm was soaked and bloody, his head swimming and eyesight fuzzy, and every muscle, bone, and fiber in his body _ached_. But he would not move. He stood resolutely, stubbornly, defiantly between his father and the body of his mother. His father had been casting spell after spell – Cutting Jinx, Fire – but Draco couldn't let him do that. He wouldn't let his father mutilate his mother like that. He had to protect her!

_She's dead, Drake_. A voice whispered the words in his head, soft and sorrowful, but he shook them away. He didn't want to think about that now. He _knew_ it, somewhere deep inside of himself, but he didn't want to think about it. As long as he didn't think about it, some part of it, however small, was surely false.

Lucius Malfoy's rage had progressed to a point that he was beyond words. When Draco had sent a severing hex at his father, Lucius had been startled by the action. He had been distracted, casting spells on the prone body of his dead wife and had not seen Draco appear from wherever he had been hiding. The severing hex had sliced through the skin of his arm from shoulder to elbow, and if Lucius thought about it, he could honestly admit that it hurt quite a lot. Had things been different, he might have been proud of such a powerful spell.

But Draco was clearly a failure. Lucius had made a mistake when telling Narcissa that he only wanted one child. He remembered her revelation, when Draco was still a toddler, that she was pregnant again, and he remembered her tears when she had begged him to let her have a little daughter. Lucius needed a heir and that was all he required. That, and her image, was all that Narcissa was required for, and he would not waste his time on another worthless female in the house. He had sneered at her tears and reminded her of that despicable family… the Weasleys – his eyes narrowed at the very thought. He had disposed of the child before it was spawned, with force enough that such a _mistake_ would never happen again, and that had been what it took to quell Narcissa's whining.

That had clearly been a mistake, however. Draco was weak, he could see now. He always had been. He had too much of his mother in him, and Lucius was disgusted and repulsed by that fact. But he knew how to solve problems such as this.

Tears ran down Draco's face without heed and Lucius' eyes burned in anger. He remembered clearly the last time that he had cried. He'd been six years old and had stolen his father's wand from the man's room, attempting to do magic, despite having been expressly forbidden to enter said room. It had been his grandfather who found him as he sat attempting to levitate a chair.

That was the first time Lucius had ever felt the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. The punishment had been swift, but effective. He had never touched his father's wand again, and after the after effects of that spell wore off, Lucius could not remember ever having cried again.

But here was his son – _his son! _– who was supposed to have his blood and his strength and his cunning, and he was _crying_ like a schoolgirl – not like a Malfoy. The boy was clearly defective, clearly a _mistake_, and Lucius would not have his good name ruined.

"Crucio!"

Draco screamed and writhed on the floor, his feet trying to find purchase to push himself away from the attack, but Lucius kept his wand trained on the boy. He reveled in the screams that tore raggedly from Draco's throat – listened to them with the air of a creature that fed on pain. How wonderful, to deliver just desserts to those who he so despised.

He lifted his wand and the screaming stopped. He watched with some interest as Draco dragged himself across the floor. His limbs were still shaking, his arms quivering lightly and keeping him from moving very fast, but the boy was stubborn. It occurred to Lucius, watching the bleeding child pull himself across the red-stained carpet, that Draco was not dragging himself _away_ from Lucius, but rather, _toward_ his mother. He looked at the woman with amusement that he did not allow to show on his face.

Narcissa Malfoy lay on her back where Lucius had left her when he had turned his attention to Draco. Her mouth was parted slightly, as though in preparation to scream, and her eyes were open wide, blue irises glazed in death. Her blonde hair framed her overly-pale features, but blood had seeped around her and begun to absorb into the locks. Lucius had cut great gashes into her body after he had used the Killing Curse on her. Her right arm had nearly been severed from her body and there were great gouges opened in her torso.

Lucius noted, with some irony, that he had gouged a whole chunk of flesh out of her stomach. He must have been thinking about the second child for a moment, though he couldn't quite recall. All he could really remember was the flash of multi-colored lights that came from his wand with each new spell cast. He didn't even remember what all spells he had used, but that didn't really matter. He had enjoyed himself, after all, but it was much more fun when they reacted. He turned his attention back to Draco.

The boy had managed to drag himself to his mother and was now laying, quivering, half over her body, as though to protect her. Lucius couldn't help but sneer at him. A mistake, indeed. Oh well. He would merely have to sacrifice a small amount of money and the papers would tell of such a _tragic_ accident and how distraught he was at their deaths. He would find a new wife – a more beautiful one, he promised himself – and have a new, more worthy heir. It wouldn't take much, after all. He was rich, and women were fickle. He had but to take his pick.

But first… Lucius raised his wand, training it on Draco. He contemplated holding him under the Cruciatus until his mind snapped, but that had always been Bellatrix's favored form of destruction. It was effective, of course, provided one made certain that _all_ mental facilities had been broken to the point that nothing could be gathered from the person once they were found, and that was not a hard thing to do, especially for Bellatrix. She had always been very good at excessive destruction.

But Lucius Malfoy was not Bellatrix Lestrange, and he had never liked loose ends.

He pointed his wand at his son, who lay over the mutilated body of Lucius' wife, clutching her robes as though trying to protect her while begging for protection himself. Lucius sneered.

"Avada-"

The spell that struck him from behind silenced him, and he fell to the floor before he could end the life of the boy who had so dishonored him.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I have adjusted my manner of responding to reviews. I will quote the questions asked in reviews and offer answers to them, and perhaps some comments, as well. Feel free to ask any questions you might have, and I dearly appreciate comments, as you well know. ;)

This chapter's suggestive reading is a pair of one-shots. Because there is only one chapter in a one-shot, I have decided to suggest two at a time. My first suggestion is _The Feast_, by Jai-kun - a tale that gives Peter Pettigrew his just desserts in a form that pays homage to one of the greatest writers of all time, Edgar Allan Poe.

The second one-shot I will suggest today is by Solstice Muse, entitled _Bookends_. It's a lovely little fic from the point of view of Arthur Weasley, concerning the way his family is treated by others after the war.

I hope you will check them out and I'm sure you'll enjoy them.

_**I note you didn't explain James' Major Fuck-up at the bottom as the numbering would indicate you intended...**- _ElfIcarii

_- _This question was asked in a review of Chapter 3 and I felt it was a good idea to make a note of it. The Prank will be revealed in greater detail later, possibly in this fic, but I am also working on a short fic in the era of the Marauders which will cover it and reveal why it plays such a part in the minds and hearts of Sirius and Remus. Rest assured, it will be covered in due time.

_**I hope he'll finally understand that Harry isn't James, and that he needs help, now more than ever...**- _nightline

- I have my doubts that Severus will change his stripes so easily, but we shall see, I suppose. At the very least, next chapter you'll see a side of him you have not yet. :D

**Author's Note: **My thanks goes out to everyone who reviewed. I will be spending the next four week trying to hit my deadline for finishing my novel, and we'll see how that goes. I want to try and get on a set schedule of updating and I _will_ try, even if it's only once a month to start. Eventually, I'd like to update every other week. But, as always, we'll see.

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I look forward to your reviews. As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	6. The Blame

**PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE.**

**Author's Note: **Dear readers, I hope wherever you are, it is warmer than here - a whopping 15 degrees Fahrenheit. Freaking cold.

However, I am inside right now, wearing warm socks and curled up under a blanket, so it's all good here.

Yesterday, I had the day off. I handed in my last Final on Tuesday and spent the day recovering. I was back to work today, but in honor of Finals being over, I am posting this chapter tonight. All of the rest of you poor college students suffering Finals or Post Final Exhaustion can consider this a reward for sticking through it.

Onto other news. The reason for my bold statement up top to read the author's note is because I know sometimes people skip over them. I'm going to tell you all what I'm hoping for with an update schedule, however, and some other news, so I wanted to make sure people read this.

As most of you undoubtedly know, real life always takes precedence over everything else. While I would love to spend all day writing (and living) _SFLAD_, I have one semester of classes left to get through (hopefully) before I graduate, a near-full-time job, and my novel, which is almost completed. Thus, I don't get a great deal of time to write fanfiction, but I don't want to leave you all hanging for months on end while I wait for time to clear up a bit. Thus, I have come up with this:

There will be, at least, one update a month. Now, I know that this pretty much comes out to twelve chapters a year, which is ludicrous. You'd be waiting for years for a story to be completed. So, **at least_, _**one chapter will be posted a month.

On top of that, chapters will be posted for special occasions. For instance, I hope to have a chapter out on (or around) my birthday. A bit of a closer example, I will be posting another chapter here in a few days in honor of Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, or whatever you do (or do not) celebrate. Chapters may also be posted for no reason at all, or just because I feel like it, or for simple celebrations. Perhaps, when I finish the novel that I am currently working on now, I will go on a _SFLAD_ binge and post three chapters in a week or something. :D You never know.

So here's how it goes:

- At least one chapter will be posted a month.  
- Chapters will also be posted for special occasions (holidays, birthdays, etc).  
- Chapters will also be posted for celebrations (graduation, successes, etc).  
- Chapters will also be posted for no other reason than because I can.

I wanted to let everyone know that, just so you know what to expect.

Now, not tonight, but _soon_, I will be doing a major renovation of my fanfiction profile, which will reflect update schedules and the like. If you wonder about anything about the fic's updates, you will be able to look on there. Hopefully, I can work the updates onto a specific day to be repeated every month. Any suggestions?

Super special thanks goes to my amazing and multi-talented beta, Elenaiel, for many things. Not the least of which is betaing my stories and catching all of this silly mistakes, but also boosting my confidence, being a great friend, and all around just rocking the world by existing.

As a general disclaimer, I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, Remus would have married Sirius, McGonagall would have kicked Snape's ass, and the fourth movie wouldn't have tormented us with Harry/Hermione sailing.

Enjoy the chapter, everyone. I hope you'll all grace me with your reviews. Stay warm, dry, lust for those holiday goodies and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**VI**

**The Blame**

**

* * *

**

Severus Snape woke to the sound of a chime echoing from his fireplace, signaling that someone was flooing into his quarters who was allowed through the wards he had placed. As there were only five people keyed into his floo when it was locked, Severus was not overly concerned about who he was having as a visitor. Unless, of course, it was Minerva, finally deciding that things had settled down enough that she could take the time to hex him. That would be very much like her.

But, as it turned out, it was not the Transfiguration professor come to hex him. Nor was it the Headmaster, come for a long talk, or the Mediwitch come to ask him to – to – Severus swiped at his mouth unconsciously. He would lose no sleep should that woman choose to never come near him again.

But the floo had chimed to alert him of its use through the wards, which had such a chime because most people would only lock their floos in certain situations. Severus locked his every night. Apparently, some people who were not keyed into his wards – and every one of them with good reason – found this annoying. Severus sneered at the thought.

The fire in the hearth flared a brilliant green, flashing and billowing like the storm of magic that it was. A tall, thin woman stepped from the flames, a gentle smile on her lips. The smile, however, faded as she caught sight of the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey next to him, and when the fire flared green a second time, the short giggling little boy was halted by a hand on his chest. His laughter stopped immediately.

"Mum?" The little boy looked up at his mother, then over at Severus, who had risen from his chair, and then back to his mother, eyes full of confusion and unspoken questions. The woman kept her palm flat on the little boy's chest, her eyes fixated on the man before her. She looked concerned, anxious, and a little angry. The boy seemed to sense this and took a step backward, looking between the two.

"Conan, go back to the house and get your cloak. I think we'll be going for a walk soon and I don't want you catching cold."

Black hair hanging just to his jawline, the little boy – Conan – ignored the fact that it was the summer and he was about as likely to get cold as he was to see Madam Pomfrey smirk when someone came into her ward injured. He stuffed his hand into the pot on the mantle and threw some of the gathered floo powder into the fire before jumping in and saying, clearly, "Morely House." There was a flash of green as the flames ignited with magic and then he disappeared.

With her son gone – and looking to make sure this was so – the woman turned back to face the man before her. Her eyes, a deep, dark chocolate brown, regarded him with a wariness he was not unfamiliar with – one that he hated to see in the eyes of this woman, or anyone he cared about.

"Elena-"

"You've been drinking, Severus."

Closing his eyes, he sighed softly. "Yes." He opened them again to find her watching him. She had come no closer and was well out of reach of him should he lunge for her. Defensive tactics. She'd always been very good and, of course, she had met his father.

"I'm not drunk, Elena." She frowned at him in clear disbelief and he plucked the bottle of firewhiskey from the table beside him, holding it by the neck and swinging it back and forth gently. "I've had two glasses this evening. I think the last time I drank from this bottle was after my… a call I received, at the end of last year."

The call, of course, was the summons he had received on the night when Voldemort returned, during the final task of that ridiculous TriWizard Tournament. He hadn't gone, being unable to get away without too many questioning eyes, but he'd felt the burn and he'd known… and then Dumbledore had revealed what had happened. He'd needed a drink after that feeling and the knowledge that the darkest wizard to grace current times had returned. He'd spelled his floo shut from even Elena that night, not wanting anyone near him. And then he'd gotten himself completely drunk.

It had been one of the stupidest things he'd done in his life. Not the _stupidest_ – there were about three things before it on that list – but idiotic nonetheless. He'd drained an entire bottle of firewhiskey and then started working on a second before he had passed out on the floor of his quarters. Two glasses of firewhiskey warmed and relaxed him, but did little else, but half a bottle was enough to knock a man on his ass. Nearly a bottle and a half that night… well, it was a damn good thing both Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore could override the wards he placed on his floo. Dumbledore would have been down both a spy and a Potions Master if Madam Pomfrey hadn't come in to check on him.

He remembered, much to his annoyance, that week-long stay at St. Mungo's and the various lectures he had received afterward, from Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, and his wife. He still wasn't sure which had been the worst of the three, but he had been able to assure them with pure honesty that he would never go on such a drinking binge again. The sensation of having had one's stomach pumped, even by magic, was, ironically, nauseating.

Severus forced himself to focus and returned his attention to the woman standing before him. Her hair, a dark chestnut brown that glimmered in the torchlight, fell halfway down her back in waves. Her skin was a soft olive tone, the brown eyes that steadily held his face so deep that he might drown in them.

Her posture had relaxed slightly, but her eyes were still wary. Severus couldn't blame her. Elena had met Tobias Snape before the bastard died and had known the kind of man who had raised her husband. Severus himself was not particularly fond of alcohol or of the penchant for allowing it to absorb one's problems. Elena was even less-so, because there was always that danger that he could react to drunkenness in the same manner of his father, and she never – nor did Severus, for that matter – wanted to subject Conan to that… cruelty.

"I wish you wouldn't drink, Severus," she said, and she sounded calmer now, if slightly exasperated.

Severus offered her a mildly scathing look, but knew she would recognize the apology that came with it. "I wish I didn't have a reason to." He flicked his fingers, his wand darting into his hand, and quickly banished the bottle and glass. Looking down at himself, he sneered. He hadn't even bothered to change his clothes. How undignified.

Elena, however, ignored his attire. She had stepped forward, carrying herself as she always did – like a cat on the prowl – and curled her arms around his neck as she leaned against him. Her lips touched his neck lightly as she smiled at the sound he made in his throat, a low, pleased growl. "Conan will be back soon," she said, warning him not to get too pleased with her lips. In response, he pulled her tighter against him, eliciting a laugh.

They stood silently, holding onto each other, quite content to remain embracing the other. "What was it that had you so worked up?" Elena asked after a few minutes of silence, and she was disappointed to feel his arms loosen and unwind from around her back. She pulled away from him so he would not have to retreat so far, and found him staring past her with a face of conflicting emotions.

"Severus, what is it?"

"I just… I've learned something about a student I – was not particularly fond of. Something that… changes things." He frowned and his eyes narrowed at the floor. "And I do not want them to," he admitted in a grumbling voice.

Elena was frowning at him in concern. She opened her mouth to ask him something, but at that moment, the fire in the hearth flared green and Conan bounded out with a shrieked, "Daddy!"

Severus let out a gruff "oof!" as the little eleven-year-old slammed into his body full-force, but his hands on the boy's shoulders only did so much – so very, very little – to calm the child. Conan was grinning from ear to ear, a cloak clutched in his hands, bouncing from foot to foot as though he had to go to the loo.

Severus rolled his eyes at the child. "What are you so pleased about?" he demanded.

"Can we go see Professor Dumbledore now, please, Daddy? I really, really, really want to get my letter!" Conan had been pestering the entire staff of Hogwarts for his acceptance letter, hoping that he would be able to get it early and be allowed to read it and, he claimed, frame it in his room. He also wanted to pick out his bed in the Slytherin dorms, but that wouldn't be allowed, of course, since they couldn't be certain that he would be sorted into Slytherin.

_But my son will not be a bloody do-good Gryffindor, I'm certain of that, _Severus thought waspishly.

"The headmaster is busy at the moment," he said to his son, removing his hands from the boy's shoulders now that he had calmed down some. "We might be able to go see him later." He took in Conan's pout, the lower lip poking out slightly and the lowered eyes. The boy could always get to him, even though he was hardly aware of such a thing. "But I'm fairly certain Minerva is free at the moment. Shall we go bother her?"

"Yes!" Conan yelled happily, throwing his fist into the air. Without hardly a moment's hesitation, he bolted from the room and into the corridors, knowing well his way through the castle.

Severus groaned as he followed, Elena at his side. It felt like an ungodly hour of the morning – no doubt was, considering he had married and somehow spawned an early-riser – he had yet to get a cup of tea, the inside of his mouth tasted absolutely dreadful, and he was wearing the same clothes as he had been yesterday, when…

Severus swiped at his mouth. He could see Elena glanced at him worriedly from beside him, but resolved that they would talk about it later. Now was not the time, when others, especially his son, could overhear.

Still, he could remember the sound of the boy choking on his own blood, the feel of his ribs through his thin skin as he pumped the boy's chest, and the taste of blood on his lips when he had been forced to breathe for the child. He thought about those deep coughs that had sprayed blood over the white hospital sheets.

Flicking his wand, Severus cast another cleaning charm on his robes – was this the fifth or the sixth time since he had returned to his quarters? – and caught Elena's sharply curious look with his own grim glance. "I'll tell you later," he said quietly, as he caught sight of Conan standing in front of a portrait, waiting for them while he conversed with an aged knight. They were discussing jousting tournaments and Severus was quite happy to pull him away before the boy got any ideas.

The three continued down the corridor toward Minerva's office, quite unprepared for what awaited them there.

* * *

To be quite honest, Remus Lupin was having a very bad day.

He'd had numerous bad days in the past; they came in abundance when one was a werewolf. Still, even he would admit that he was hard-pressed to find a day that, in the last fifteen years, managed to be quite as bad as this one.

He sat in the Hospital Wing, leaning back in a chair between two occupied beds. He sat closer to Harry's bed, because the boy was a child and the one in serious danger here, but he continued to cast glances across to the other bed. A child lay unconscious in that one, too, even if he was only a child in his immature mind.

_Ah, Sirius, you're far too impulsive. _

Poor Albus. The headmaster had not only been punched by a werewolf, but also hexed, quite extravagantly, by an ex-Auror – and Sirius, everyone knew, had always been one of the best. Remus felt bad for hitting the Headmaster – it had been done in a moment of emotional upheaval, his heart so weighed down by fear and pain that the only way he was able to escape such drowning emotions was to submit to his rage, which burned and rose free of such a despairing pit.

He hated that he was so easily able to turn to rage. He had tried so hard when he was younger, particularly at school and surrounded by other kids, to control his emotions. Children could be so cruel, and it was an intentional cruelty that would break the hearts of those who truly valued innocence and peace, though few of them remained, as well. Albus Dumbledore was one of them, he knew, and he wondered if Remus having lost his temper – losing his temper, not punching the man – had wounded the headmaster's heart. He suspected so, but still, he hoped not.

Remus sighed and reached out to brush back Harry's hair, displaying the lightning bolt scar for a moment before the feral fringe fell back over his forehead. He had often envied the other students when he was young, so open with their emotions – to easily displaying anger and love and aggravation and happiness. For them, there were no repercussions with the release. They could be angry and yell and hex someone's hair blue, and then everything would be fine later.

When Remus got angry, people got _hurt_. He remembered once, in grade school at the age of nine, a girl had teased him because of his shabby clothes and tendency to turn to books instead of people. He had done his best to ignore her, as he always did, but he had failed to contain the anger when the girl called his mother an awful word he had never dared to repeat, even to defend himself to a teacher. He remembered only the rage at the girl's cruel-intentioned words, and then the feeling of her skin peeling beneath his hand as fingernails dug into her flesh and tore gouges from her cheek.

He'd seen her a few times over the years, though she failed to recognize him, so much time had passed between them. He imagined he might not have recognized her, either, but for her face. There were still four scars that slashed down her cheek, almost silver – deep and hideous. They would never heal, of course, though she was safe from the Lycanthropic curse. He was grateful that he could not pass that through his claws like he could his teeth, even when human. If all she ended up with was a liking for bloody steak, there was little harm in that.

Still, she might have grown up to be quite beautiful, if not for that incident, and though she was cruel then and would no doubt have remained so, Remus still blamed himself for the death of that child's future. He had taken it from her in his rage, and so he knew, quite well from experience, that he dared not let the rage free.

But he still failed. Sometimes the rage got loose, the anger took over, and someone got hurt.

Dumbledore this time. Dumbledore, who had argued the Wizengamot to allow Remus, a child lycanthrope, to attend Hogwarts. Dumbledore, who had adjusted the landscape of the magical property to plant a tree that was a spirit of war in a place that had known peace for centuries. Dumbledore, who most certainly knew of the goings-on of the Gryffindor boys and who had done nothing to stop, to punish these foolish, irresponsible, _stupid_ children.

Remus could never repay him for his kindness. He could only hurt him for it, because he was a werewolf.

"Mister Lupin, if you do not stop brooding, I will sedate you, as well."

"Do you have anything chocolate flavored?" The words were out of his mouth before he could actually think of all the reasons _not_ to say it. The moment he registered the question – sarcastic as it was – he brought his hand to his head and seemed to curl into himself on the chair, uttering a shaky curse.

"Remus." He felt a hand, thin and delicate, on his arm and he shuddered at the touch. Of course, Madam Pomfrey understood. She had heard that question asked of her every time she'd threatened him with some medicinal concoction throughout school, for whatever health hazard he was suffering that week. It wasn't always he that said it; sometimes, Sirius copped it off with that devil-may-care-and-you-know-you-love-me grin, winking at her, or James Potter had said it, flashing her an innocent expression that could always melt even McGonagall's heart. It was James that had come up with the phrase to begin with, once they had all grown quite used to Remus' obsession with chocolate. It was said all in fun (and perhaps a little hope that the potions might gain some flavor other than vomitus), but neither of them had heard it since the death of James and Lily Potter, years ago.

"I'm sorry," Remus said. His voice was soft, spoken in little more than a whisper, but that did not hide the strangled note within it, and Madam Pomfrey could feel him shivering beneath her hand.

"Remus, hush now." Her other hand clasped around his forearm as she crouched next to him. "There is nothing at all for you to apologize for, least of all the words of a memory that brings me both pain _and_ joy. Other than the fact that you depleted my stores of potions and were injured, I enjoyed both your company and the constant banter, I assure you. It gives me no small amount of happiness to know that you recall those words as easily as I do."

Remus still had a hand over his eyes, tears having leaked through his fingers, but he was listening to her. He knew without having to ask that the company she enjoyed had not been his alone, but his friends, as well. That was… good – nice to know.

"Thank you," he whispered.

It was sometimes hard for Remus, to be around Harry. It did not have anything to do with the boy himself but was, rather, a failure on Remus' part. He would readily admit to missing Lily and James, to crying over their loss, to remembering fondly the good times they spent together. But though he had grieved over their deaths, he had never quite put it behind him.

This was, in all likelihood, Peter's fault.

Remus had spent more than a decade of his life thinking that one friend had betrayed him, one had died defending their honor, and two others had been murdered. For so long, he had thought that Sirius was a murderer and Peter a martyr in the disguise of a coward all these years. He had been wrong, though – they had all been wrong, tricked. Peter had always been a coward and Sirius… Sirius had _always_ been loyal. He had doubted him again.

Harry's presence, his appearance, his age, was a reminder of the time that had been wasted believing lives. A reminder that he had spent fourteen years mourning the loss of a traitor and hating a brave and innocent man trapped in a mortal hell. He had lived fourteen years of his life in darkness and he remembered this all too clearly when things got bad, but was reminded of everything that he missed out on when Harry was near.

If only he hadn't been so foolish, he could have given Harry the chance at a better life.

"Remus."

"I'm all right, Madam Pomfrey." Remus pulled his hand away from his eyes and cleared his throat lightly, sitting up straight in the seat. He sighed lightly and touched Harry's hand gently, before turning to face the mediwitch.

She looked tired, her face pale and drawn, with dark bags under her eyes and a weary glaze to her eyes. Remus had felt the magic of the spell she'd used to heal Harry, to save the boy's life. It was a summoning spell – one that channeled the power of the gods themselves. It would make any caster weary, though it was a wonder she was still on her feet. Someone else should be here to substitute her position and let her sleep. Perhaps he should stop being so foolish and allow her to rest.

She was still crouched next to him, looking concerned, her hand wrapped around his arm. He offered her an apologetic smile to try and reassure her. "Regrets," her murmured, by way of explanation.

Her face softened lightly. "Things will be all right, Mister Lupin. Have faith in that." She patted his hand gently as she rose to her feet, before striding back to her office and leave him in peaceful solitude.

Remus leaned back in the chair with a sigh and looked back and forth between the two boys he loved, lying in beds. Harry was… okay.

He had been healed of all truly dangerous physical injuries. He still had bruises and some of his bones were still tender, but his ribs were healed and he seemed to be breathing fine.

Remus reached out and gently placed his hand flat against the boy's chest, feeling the child's chest rise and all with each breath, and the steady beating of his heart. It was a comforting feeling, after what he had witnessed. He did not know if he would ever get that out of his head; the vision of stepping into the hospital wing to find Severus performing CPR on Harry – the sound of the boy's ribs breaking beneath Snape's ministrations. Remus had no doubts that it would haunt him until the end of his days, but he was still grateful to Snape. He still owed him… so much.

And still they were asking more of him.

Sirius didn't like the idea at all, of them signing a secondary guardianship with Snape's wife, and he had made his opinion quite well-known when he'd hexed the headmaster for even suggesting it, but Remus knew it was a good idea. It was a good idea and he was definitely considering it, but there were things that needed to be done first – other things that were more important.

Harry. Harry was more important.

And Harry couldn't speak, or hear.

That had been the second most devastating part of Harry waking up. The first had been the tremors.

Biting back a sob, Remus put his face in his hands. It was one thing for the poor boy to be unable to hear and speak because of the trauma he had suffered at the hands of his uncle, but he shook – his hands quaked no matter what, his vision was clearly blurred – his glasses did not do as well as they should. Clear signs. Clear signs.

Dementia Pugilistica.

Of all things, they had hoped – oh had they hoped. But it looked hopeless now. He had the tremors, the diminished eyesight, and he couldn't speak or hear. How long before he was unable to walk on his own? How long before he gave up, like another boy Remus had once known? How long before Remus' life began to crumble anew, now that he had just found it again?

Life, it seemed, was always so cruel to those who least deserved her ire.

* * *

_Dear Ron, _

_I wish I had more to tell you, but I'm afraid I know probably even less than you where Harry is concerned. I had – well, I'm not sure you can call it a nightmare, as I don't remember the dream, but it felt like something was terribly wrong and I was worried about Harry, so I couldn't stay at home and just do nothing. I flooed to Professor Dumbledore's office and I did see your dad there, and Professor Lupin, as well. _

_We talked and I have to admit, I was surprised when your dad agreed with me. I didn't know that he felt the way he said he did, but the headmaster was convinced enough to allow Remus to take Snuffles and go check on Harry. _

_I had a cold, so I was at the hospital wing for a little while so Madam Pomfrey could check me over, but once my fever had gone down, they sent me home. I wish I had stayed – honestly, I hadn't even thought of it until after I got home. I had other things on my mind, but I'd rather like to think them over first before sharing them. _

_I don't suppose your dad would know anything more about what happened? I imagine Professor Dumbledore would be more likely to tell an adult what was going on than us, even if we probably do know Harry better. _

_Professor Lupin did seem adamant in checking on Harry. He was very worried after what I told him I knew and I think he would have gone even if the headmaster had said he wasn't allowed to. I'm sure he's already been to the Dursleys and spoken to Harry. Maybe they even managed to convince Professor Dumbledore to let Harry leave early this year. I know he'd love it if he could spend some time with your family this summer, Ron, before school starts up again. He'll need it, after last year. _

_I really wish I knew more and could be more helpful. I should have asked to stay at Hogwarts until Professor Lupin returned. I thought about sending him a letter, but I'm not sure that's right and I think if anything was wrong, Professor Lupin, at least, would let us know. He knows Harry's our best friend. _

_If you learn anything, Ron, let me know. Maybe I can convince my parents to let me come over sometime this summer, before school starts. _

_Hermione_

Ron put down the letter that Hermione had written him and ran his fingers through his hair, groaning in irritation. She didn't know anything, _either_!

Ron had asked his dad, but Mr. Weasley hadn't lingered at Hogwarts once he knew someone was going to check on Harry. Ron knew his father had been worried about him and, in some ways, he was grateful for this. Well, in all ways, he was grateful, but he was worried about Harry and he hated being worried for his friend, who seemed to attract trouble no matter what he did to avoid it.

Pulling a blank piece of parchment out from under a stack of schoolbooks, the edges slightly torn, Ron dipped his quill in his ink bottle and began to write a letter back to Hermione. Pigwidgeon, who looked quite pleased about being trusted to mail letters, was flitting about the room, only perching for a moment on various places before zooming about again. Ron did his best to ignore him as he wrote.

_Hermione, _

_Dad didn't stick around long after knowing Professor Lupin was going to check on Harry, and he came back home. I asked him, but he says he hasn't heard anything about Harry. No news is good news, though, right?_

Ron grimaced. Maybe some people believed that, but when it came to Harry, the best way to keep him from getting hurt was to keep him in your sight, and that hardly did anything to help. No news was just aggravating and terrifying when it came to Harry and Ron hoped he learned something soon. And he hoped that Harry was all right.

_I'll ask Dad if maybe he can talk to Professor Lupin and ask how Harry is doing. I don't know what phase of the moon it is. Maybe Professor Lupin's busy being… furry, you know._

That sounded like a horrible way to try and be discreet about Professor Lupin being a werewolf, but he didn't really want to spend a lot of time coming up with some silly codeword Hermione wouldn't get anyway, so he ignored the temptation to do such a thing.

_And I'll ask Mum and Dad if you can come over. I think Ginny misses having another girl around the house, though she's been hanging out with Loony Lovegood, this weird girl who lives down the road. I think she's strange, but don't tell Ginny I told you that. She punched me in the arm last time I said it and I'm really hoping she forgets about saying she's gonna bat-bogey hex me once we're back in school. _

_Anyway, I'll send Pig if I her anything. _

_Ron_

Folding up his letter, he tied it to an anxious Pigwidgeon's legs before sending the stupid bird off to Hermione. Huffing, he sat with his head propped on his hand for a while before shoving a book off of the stack onto the desk in front of him. He wished someone would just come and let him know what was going on. He was worried about Harry and, although they tried to hide it, he knew his parents were, too.

Sighed, Ron opened his book to a random page and groaned. "Potions," he muttered, glaring at the fourth year text as though it was the cause of all of his problems. Grimacing, he settled his elbows on either side of the books and propped his head up as he began to read.

He hated Potions – hated them and intended to stop taking them as soon as he was able to. From what his older brothers had said, he would need NEWT level Potions to become an Auror, so it looked like that career was out. He would just have to find something else to aspire to.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron caught a glimpse of his Divination book and snorted loudly. He was having dreams about his best friend being in danger, and now people were going to check on the boy to make sure everything was all right. Ron should have thought of this before. Divination was total hippogriff turds! So, of course, Harry would be just fine, or Ron would just have to take up a career as a Seer.

The youngest Weasley son smirked at his Potions text, for a moment completely forgetting about his worry. Oh, Hermione would totally hex him for that, and Ron couldn't wait to tell her. Maybe she'd let him off easy if he predicted Trelawny's death – crushed by a crystal ball. Ron chuckled to himself, thinking about Hermione's reaction. Definitely worth a possible hex.

A few minutes later, all of his mirth faded when the floo brought a grim-faced messenger, and bad news.

* * *

**Nightline - **That whole review was way too long to quote. Your review was no more scattered than mine and your grasp of English is very good. I'm rather infamous for my cliffhangers, if I do say so myself, and for making things appear to be something they are not, but that's for a later time. Draco and Lucius will become clearer later. The next chapter will reveal the identity of Draco's savior. Snape has many mysteries. He's a bit of an enigma. Like Batman, only greasier. Greaseman! Sirius _is_ having a temper tantrum. More things will become clearer as the chapters progress.

**While Harry/Genny is me least favorite paring I'm going to try and stick with this one until the end. - Fox Loves Shinigami**

To tell you the truth, FLS, Harry/Ginny isn't my favorite pairing, either. I would rather ship Harry/Hermione, but I decided to give this one a go. I'm glad you're going to try to stick with it and I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless.

Thank you, everyone, for your reviews. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and will let me know in a review. There's a big button down there just waiting for you to click it. It doesn't have to be long. Just a smiley face will do if that's all you're willing to offer.

Have a wonderful night, everyone, and as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	7. The Plan

**Author's Note: **Happy - belated - Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, and any other holiday that may be celebrated by my lovely readers. I hope you had a great time and a lovely weekend. I had a pleasant three-day weekend and I am only sad that it is now coming to an end. Oh well.

Massive handfuls of thanks go out to Elenaiel, who is an awesome beta and does a great job of making my day.

I don't really have a great deal to say, so I will let you get to the chapter with only the note that the return to classes will be occurring within the next few chapters, just in case anyone was curious.

Enjoy the chapter and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write._

**

* * *

THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**VII**

**The Plan**

**

* * *

**

Albus Dumbledore sat alone in his office for the first time since Harry had been brought to Hogwarts. The solitude, as momentary as it was, offered him a small relief from the position he constantly had to play. Alone in his office but for the crimson bird sitting quietly in the corner, the headmaster of Hogwarts leaned forward in his chair and groaned as he buried his face in his hands.

It was almost impossible to believe that he'd been complaining the previous week of having too much to do. Compared to this week, those tasks had been a cakewalk. Now, on top of trying to convince the Minister of Magic that Voldemort had returned, fighting off reporters that were constantly begging for his comments, and preparing for a new school year (which included finding a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor), he had a swath of new chores. He needed to find an appropriate place for Sirius and Remus to live with Harry, talk to Elena about signing as Harry's secondary guardian, search for cures for Harry's unfortunate loss of hearing and speech, and make adjustments to the school to accommodate these problems.

_At least finding a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is no longer a problem_, Dumbledore thought, though he wasn't particularly pleased about the choice that had been made. Extremely displeased with how Dumbledore continued to try and convince him of Voldemort's return, Cornelius Fudge had stepped in and assigned Hogwarts a new professor. Dolores Umbridge. Dumbledore had the unfortunate experience of having met the woman some time ago. To this day he rather loathed the color pink.

"There's nothing for it, I suppose." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and gazed at the phoenix in the corner as the large bird cleaned his feathers. "You're quite lucky, my dear friend. You need only sit on your perch and relax as the rest of us rush around, searching for ways to salvage what's left of the world."

Fawkes raised his head from his preening and stared at Dumbledore with keen eyes. The phoenix let out a trill that sounded much more like a scoff than anything and turned on his perch until his back was facing Dumbledore, as though he had found the comment insulting. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Fawkes gave him no mind and turned back to preening himself.

Dumbledore was left in a moment of startled confusion, before he turned slowly back to the papers on his desk. He had received another letter from the goblins at Gringotts that stated, in no uncertain terms, that he was to shut up about the Black Family mansion. According to Walburga Black's will, the Black Family Mansion was to go to Regulus Black or, should he be unable to take it, to the descendents of either him or Sirius Black. Regulus had, of course, died some years ago and had left no children, and Walburga had left nothing to Sirius, as he had been wiped off of the family tree. If Sirius were legally and officially Harry's guardian, there would be no issue, because Harry would be considered a descendent of Sirius even though they weren't related by blood. However, Sirius was a fugitive and because he could not claim Harry, the mansion was unavailable for their use. Dumbledore had been trying to convince the goblins, but he had apparently overstepped his boundaries and insulted them, which had been the least of his intentions. He would not attempt to convince them again. Goblins could be ruthless and Dumbledore did not want to anger the creatures that the Wizarding World so often relied upon.

He was reluctant to admit it, but it seemed that his only choice in the matter would be to allow Sirius, Remus, and Harry to live at 12 Grimmauld Place. He had been trying to avoid this for two reasons. The first, of course, was because Sirius was a wanted criminal and not all members of the Order of the Phoenix knew about his innocence. If they lived at Grimmauld Place, Sirius would be forced to hide within his own home during Order meetings.

The second reason was because Dumbledore knew how much Sirius hated Grimmauld Place and how he despised being confined in the home that had been such a painful place as a child. He had wanted to try and make up for his recent (and not so recent) mistakes by giving him the pleasure of being away from that memory, but it appears he would fail at yet another thing in this life.

Sighing wearily, Dumbledore massaged his temples and winced at he pressed too hard against a drooping boil over his left eye. He wondered if Sirius would hex him again when he told him the bad news.

Feeling the greenish-yellow pus gush suddenly out of a shivering boil on the tip of his nose, Dumbledore desperately hoped not.

* * *

Ginny sighed for what was probably the third time in two minutes and tried to focus on the book she was reading. She was sitting cross-egged in the grass near the pond at the edge of their property, with Ron's fourth year Potions book resting in her lap. Beside her, a blonde-haired girl lay on her back in the tall grass, eyes gazing with unfocused attention up at the sky.

"You really should tell him you like him, you know."

Ginny startled, turning to look at her friend. The girl's blue eyes were still staring up at the sky. She had one hand lying on her stomach, while the other twirled a few strands of grass between her fingers. Ginny swallowed before speaking. "Tell who?" she managed to squeak.

"Harry Potter." It wasn't spoken in an exasperated tone or a sarcastic drawl, as one might expect. Rather, the blonde said it in a manner that suggested she expected Ginny did not _know_ that she liked Harry Potter, and this young girl was doing her a favor by letting her know that she did.

"Why do you think I like him?" Ginny asked nervously, forgetting about the book in her lap. Her attention was completely focused on Luna, who continued to study the clouds as if there were nothing more interesting in the world.

"Since we have stopped talking about him, you've been staring ahead as though you're not thinking. I might have thought that a colony of Wrackspurts have made a nest in your head, but I don't sense any around, so you must be thinking of Harry Potter." The young girl blinked as a cloud above her was blown into a new form by the wind and lost interest in it. She turned her head to look at Ginny curiously.

Ginny shrugged, though she refused to look at Luna, the blush that arched across her cheeks reaching to the tips of her ears. "I don't really see the point in saying anything. He wouldn't like me like that."

Ginny waited for a reply, but after a while, it became apparent that Luna wasn't going to say anything. Ginny returned to the book in her lap and didn't pay much attention as Luna got to her feet and looked across the pond, humming lightly and singing too low for the words to be clear. Not a moment later, Ginny looked up when Mrs. Weasley called from the house.

"Ginny, dear! I need you to come inside!"

"I'll be right there, Mum!" Ginny turned back to her companion. "Do you want to come inside, Luna? I'm sure Mum would love to have you for dinner."

"No. Dad wouldn't like it very much if I let myself get eaten by your mum."

Ginny blinked at her for a moment, before pursing her lips in an attempt to not laugh. Instead, she smiled at Luna. "Okay, Luna. Well, I'll see you later, then."

"Oh yes," Luna said, and smiled wistfully. Turning, she skipped across the grass toward the road, only to stop after a few feet and turn around. Ginny's attention was still focused on the unusual blonde-haired girl. "You should tell Harry Potter that you like him," Luna said abruptly, and Ginny was surprised to see that her normally-clouded blue eyes were quite clear. "He's going to need you soon."

Luna blinked then, and the clouds seemed to return to obscure her eyes. She offered Ginny a wistful smile as she turned and continued skipping back toward the road and home.

After watching her for a moment, Ginny headed up toward the house to see what Mrs. Weasley wanted. She was surprised to step into the house to find Fred, George, Ron, and her parents standing in the living room, along with the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

"Ah, Ginny, there you are, dear." Mrs. Weasley hurried over to smooth Ginny's hair. She hugged the girl tight, as though offering comfort.

Ginny looked to her professor, finding that the woman's face was grave. "Professor McGonagall?" she asked quietly.

"Hello, Miss Weasley. I was just asking your mother to get everyone together. I have something I need to talk to you about."

Ginny frowned at the woman. Professor McGonagall always looked stern, but right now, that was overshadowed by a grim expression that made Ginny feel unwell. She glanced over at her brothers to find Fred and George muttering over a parchment, and Ron sitting on the couch beside them, looking at McGonagall as though she'd just told him that Pidwidgeon was eaten by a giant spider.

Mr. Weasley came into the room, moving over to put his arm around his wife's waist, and McGonagall nodded to note that they were all present. "Very well, then. Arthur, you recently spoke to the headmaster about Mr. Potter."

Arthur nodded, his face going grim at the memory being brought up. "I did. Ron here," he motioned toward Ron, "had a very distressing nightmare and I knew I'd feel better to know that Harry had been checked on, just in case. He's like one of the family, you know."

McGonagall nodded. "The headmaster did send someone to check on Harry. They've recovered him from his relatives' home and brought him to Hogwarts."

"Is Harry all right, Professor?" Ginny asked, looking at McGonagall. She had been staring at Ron's face, which had gone very pale. The boy's hands had clenched into fists around the cloth of his pants and he was staring wide-eyed at some point in front of him.

"Mr. Potter is… in the Hospital Wing, Miss Weasley. Madam Pomfrey is taking care of him."

"The Hospital Wing? Oh, is the poor dear all right? What happened?"

McGonagall looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid Harry was injured when he was discovered at the Dursleys', Molly. His injuries were rather severe." McGonagall refused to admit how severe. There was no way she wanted to be the one to break that bombshell open for Molly Weasley. "He has been under constant supervision since, but he's spent most of his time unconscious."

"Can we see him?"

The question cut the end off of McGonagall's words, and she turned to Ron in surprise. Molly opened her mouth to rebuke her son for interrupting his professor, but Arthur put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. She closed her mouth slowly.

"I'm not sure if that is well-advised, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall admitted.

Ron still hadn't looked at her, but was staring straight ahead, eyes wide, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bloodless. As she watched, he swallowed a few times around a tight jaw, looking as though he was gathering his nerve up about something. He raised his head with a jerky motion, finally meeting her eyes. She was taken aback by his haunted gaze, but didn't say anything.

"I want to see him, Professor," Ron said, sounding like he was forcing the words out around a compulsion for silence. "I need to know that he's – he's okay."

_You need to know that he's alive, don't you, Ron?_ Ginny was looking at her brother again and his eyes scared her. His face scared her and so did his words. He was frightened and she didn't know why. She knew he'd had a nightmare, but not that it was about anything but Harry, and though she wished she knew what it was about, she was very glad she didn't.

She looked away from Ron with some relief and turned her eyes to her professor. "Please, Professor McGonagall?" She bit her lip when her Head of House looked at her. "I'm worried, Professor."

"I know you are, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said softly. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"Headmaster? Are you there?"

Dumbledore wandered over to the fireplace, where he found the head of Kingsley Shacklebolt poking out of the coals. "Auror Shacklebolt, what a pleasant surprise!" It was quite a surprise, actually, as Dumbledore knew Kingsley was currently working and, therefore, on Ministry time. "Would you like to come through?"

"If you have a moment, Headmaster." Dumbledore stepped away from the fire and a moment later, Kingsley stepped through a burst of green flames. He looked at Dumbledore with a grim face and nodded at the walls. Dumbledore waved his hand and a privacy bubble appeared around the both of them, shielding their conversation from being overhead by anyone.

"What is it, Kingsley?" Dumbledore asked, stepping closer to the agitated man.

The auror sank into a chair and rubbed his face. "I've just come from St. Mungo's, Albus," Kingsley said, and looked up at the headmaster. "Lucius Malfoy did a number on his kid."

"Draco?" Dumbledore asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "How bad is he?"

"_Bad_, Albus." Kingsley shook his head and rubbed his face tiredly. "I'm honestly surprised the damn kid is alive. He didn't seem that bad off at first, but then I got a better look at him. Lucius gave him a lot for being so stubborn, but the boy was brave."

"Tell me what happened, Kingsley."

"None of us are stupid enough to think that Lucius Malfoy isn't on the top of the list of those helping the Dark Lord back into power, so I figured that scoping out his mansion wouldn't be a bad idea. If Fudge questions me about it, I figured I would just tell him I wanted to make sure that one of the Ministry's most prominent figures wasn't in danger from those who believed what you had been saying about the Dark Lord, and remembered that Malfoy had once been a Death Eater, even if he did get off on the Imperius excuse."

Dumbledore nodded, so Kingsley continued. "I sniffed around the property for a bit, but it looked pretty quiet. I figure wherever the Dark Lord is, he isn't using the Malfoy Mansion – at least not yet. I was about to leave when I heard someone screaming, and I went to check it out. It was inside the mansion, of course, but the screams were so loud, I'm not sure I would have been heard if I'd banged on the door."

He shook his head for a moment, gathering himself. "I found Lucius Malfoy casting the Cruciatus – and that's just for starters – on his son. He was casting a bunch of other spells – a severing charm, burning hex, and acid blood spell, once, I think. Draco-" Kingsley rubbed his forehead. "The boy was covering Narcissa with his own body, trying to protect her. She'd already been killed, and mutilated on top of it. Lucius was trying to get to her, to do more, I guess, but Draco was blocking him, so he was taking his frustration out on the boy.

"I stunned Lucius. I thought about killing him, but when it all comes down, I want him there, under Veritaserum, to admit to everything. I don't care if they kill him then, have the Dementors Kiss him, or toss him into that ruddy Veil. Damn it all, I'll kill him myself if I have to, when the time comes, but I want his crimes to come out of his own mouth before this is all through, so I stunned him. I got a good look at Draco then and I couldn't stick around and wait for backup. I incarcerated Lucius and called Tonks, and then I Apparated to St. Mungo's as soon as I was outside the wards."

"And Lucius?"

Kingsley sighed and fell back in the chair. "Escaped. I imagine he had help. Tonks got there less than five minutes after me, but when I talked to her, she said no one was there when she arrived. I've no doubt he's kissing the Dark Lord's boots as we speak. He left his wife's body behind, though. I figure we can do good by her, at least."

Dumbledore nodded, leaning back against his desk with a pensive expression. "Who is with Draco at the moment?"

"I have Tonks watching over him. I don't trust word not to leak out about him being there unless someone's there to keep an eye on things, and even then. Tonks'll make sure he doesn't get any visitors." He studied Dumbledore's pensive expression for a moment. "What'll we do about him?"

"I'll have to let his godfather know, if he hasn't already received a message, though I doubt he has. I don't think Lucius Malfoy could be considered a very good parental figure before this, so I see no reason why a notice should be sent out now. Have the healers revealed anything about his well-being?"

"He's still pretty bad off, but they had him stabilized before I left. I wanted to make sure, before I left Tonks alone. The healers have done a good job, but there are some things they've said they can't fix."

Dumbledore frowned. "His mind…"

"The Cruciatus certainly didn't do him any favors, but they didn't see anything wrong with his mind while diagnosing him. One of the spells Lucius used caught his face, though. He'll be blind in one eye for the rest of his life. They say all of the nerves have been severed beyond repair, and I imagine he'll be badly scarred. I don't know about anything else for certain."

Dumbledore nodded and sighed. "I have a meeting with Snape already, so I'll let him know about Draco in a few moments." He looked at the auror, who was unsurprised by the identity of Draco's godfather. "Thank you, Kingsley."

Kingsley bowed his head slightly and stood. "Of course, Albus." He shook the headmaster's hand. "My shift will be over soon. I'll probably keep an eye on Draco after that. I don't want his dad popping in to finish the job." He grimaced. "Let me know where you'll want him moved. I'll handle it."

"We'll be moving him to Headquarters, actually."

Kingsley did look surprised this time. "I thought our furry inmate was going to be spending his holiday there?"

"He is," Dumbledore admitted, not all that happy at his mind being turned back to Sirius, "and so is Draco's godfather. I promise I'll explain more later," he said, at Kingsley's confused look. "Keep an eye on Draco for me."

"Two eyes," Kingsley said, "and maybe even Moody's, if he's available." He nodded. "Good day, Albus."

"Kingsley." The whoosh of the fireplace pulled Kingsley from the room and Dumbledore sank down into his chair. Fawkes trilled reassuringly from the corner of the room, but Dumbledore merely leaned over the desk and placed his head in his hands.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes, the room around him dimmed by the night. He blinked slowly, trying to find something familiar in the blur that was his vision. He could smell the sharp tang of disinfectant and knew he was in the Hospital Wing, just as he had been when he awoke the first time. Like the first time, there was a vacuous sensation around his ears – not silence, but rather, no sound at all penetrated his mind. It was disorienting, but he did not allow it to send him flying into a panic as it had before.

He continued to lie on the bed, his fingers clutching the blanket that covered him, and stared up at the ceiling. There was blurry darkness and he wished he could hear if someone else was breathing nearby, but there was simply nothing.

Harry opened his mouth and tried to speak. He moved his lips and tongue just like he would have to call "Hello." It felt no different from when he usually spoke, except for a lack of vibration in his throat that he had never truly noticed before. He couldn't hear that there was no sound coming from his lips, but then he couldn't hear.

Disorienting. And confusing. He didn't really understand what had happened to leave him in this condition. He hadn't been able to get a lot out of Sirius and Remus. They didn't take the revelation of his loss of hearing and speech very well at all.

Harry glanced down at his fingers as he entwined them over his chest. His hands were shaking still, as they had been the first time that he woke up. Admittedly, he still wasn't feeling very well. He was sore all over, as though he had just played an incredibly grueling game of Quidditch, but his chest ached with a strange ferocity. Harry tried to ignore it and think about other things, like the fact that he was at Hogwarts now and he didn't know the date. Of course, thinking about Hogwarts got him thinking about _why_ he was there and that made him think about how he got there, and then he was back to wondering exactly what had happened to make him ache like he did. Did his uncle really do that much damage?

His quivering fingers tightened over the blankets as he thought about Privet Drive and everything he had left behind. There had been no love lost between him and his relatives when he was taken from that house, he was sure, but his trunk was there, his schoolbooks and invisibility cloak and his wand.

And Hedwig.

Hedwig was probably still in that cage, covered in blood. Harry wasn't concerned about the smell her body might be making or the mess that might have occurred. Hedwig was his second friend and had always been his best friend. She didn't deserve to just lie in the bottom of her cage in his room – a place that had always been without love. She deserved a proper burial, somewhere clear and beautiful – a place filled with love, because he had loved her so very, very much.

Harry couldn't hear himself sniffle, but he could feel the tickling of hot tears as they rolled down over his ears. His throat got thick and his nose stuffy and he clenched his teeth together tightly to try and stifle the tears, but they wouldn't back down.

Hedwig was gone. She was gone, and it was more than that Harry had killed her. That in itself was bad enough, but she was gone and he wasn't quite sure what he would do without her. He loved her and part of him wanted to believe that little lie in the back of his mind that he'd had a nightmare about her and she would fly over to him the next time he stepped into the owlery and nip his ear to admonish him for not visiting her enough. He wanted to believe that little lie, he really did, but he remembered the feel of her going limp in his hands as he buried the knife in her heart. He had tried to free her from the pain of dying one day at a time from starvation and maybe he had succeeded – maybe. But then, he was here, alive, and she was not.

If he had waited just another day, someone could have rescued her, too. She needn't have died.

Harry's sniffed again. He saw a shadow to his left move and figured he had woken someone with his crying. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rolled over onto his side and buried his face into the pillow.

He was at Hogwarts. He'd survived the Dursleys. But now he couldn't speak and he couldn't hear and Hedwig was gone.

It just wasn't right.

* * *

Remus sighed as Harry rolled over, away from him. He could tell that the boy was crying, but it was clear that he wanted to do so without the acknowledgment of others, so Remus leaned back in his chair and sighed. It occurred to him that he could sigh as loudly as he wanted and Harry would never hear.

He bit back something at that thought – a sob or a scream, he wasn't sure.

"Moony?"

Remus glanced at the bed across from Harry's, where Sirius was sitting up. He could see the Animagus in the darkness, blinking blearily, his hair tousled wildly. He seemed to be gathering his wits rather quickly, so Remus called back softly, "I'm here, Sirius."

"Is Harry awake?"

"He's sleeping." Remus stood up from his chair and walked over to sit by Sirius on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone drugged me." He turned a glare onto Remus. It had a rather diminished effect, him still blinking sleep from his eyes and bearing the wrinkly pattern from the pillow on his left cheek. "You drugged me, Remus."

"Actually, Madam Pomfrey drugged you. I merely held you down." Sirius grunted. "You were out of control, Sirius. I understand your feelings, but I think Dumbledore has really suffered enough today." From the look on Sirius' face, the ex-convict didn't quite agree.

"Harry can't speak," he said, after a pregnant pause.

"No. He can't."

"He can't hear."

"No."

"What are we going to do, Remus?"

The werewolf gave his friend a solemn, serious look. "We're going to take him home," he said calmly. "We're going to love him, and care for him, and be the family that he's been lacking since Lily and James died. We're going to teach him to cast spells silently and to use his other senses. And when he wakes up from nightmares, we're going to be there to hug him, because he's missed out on too many hugs, Padfoot, and you can curl up in bed with him and lick his face until he learns to _laugh_ because life is too short for how serious he is." He matched his friend's gaze. "Does that sound like a plan to you, Padfoot?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, his throat choked up with emotion. "That sounds like a great plan."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and will grace me with your ever-lovely reviews. I do enjoy reading them so very much.

Whether or not a chapter is up for New Years will depend entirely on whether I have time to write one or not. These holiday weeks are also the busiest, but here's hoping. Now, there were a few comments and questions I saw fit to reply to...

**I have a twisted obsession with abused Harry fics, and although you say it will be a Ginny/Harry fic (I hate Ginny with a passion), I really want to read more! **

I also used to hate Ginny with a passion and this fic, in the original version, was actually Harry/Hermione. I was lucky enough, however, to read an incredibly well-written fic that made me fall completely in love with Ginny's character. Do note, however, that I am taking liberties with some of the characters, Ginny included. I never much liked that Ginny was suddenly someone to Harry in sixth year, so I'm making some adjustments. Hopefully, I can change your views of Ginny, as mine were changed. And if not, I'm still glad you enjoy the story.

**_Snape has a kid? And a cute one, at that. Wouldn't he at least be kind to his own kid?_**

I think one of the things we can be sure about people is that there is far more to them than there often appears to be, and what one person may consider to be cold about one person may be nothing more than aloof to another. In any case, we have hardly seen to the depths of Severus Snape's personality. Be assured that we will see another side of Snape in the future. Perhaps multiple sides.

_**Are Remus and Hermione going to be together?**_

As can be seen on my profile under _The Search For Life and Death's_ information, this is a Harry/Ginny, Remus/Sirius, and Ron/Hermione fic.

**_HOW THE HELL DO YOU ONLY HAVE 53 REVIEWS? Do people not know what a quality well written story is anymore?_**

I really appreciate that. Thank you. I'm glad you think the story is so well-written. I do try. Hopefully, in the future, I will be graced with more reviews, as I am quite fond of them.****

**_I wasn't clear on the identity of the child next to Remus who wasn't Harry. Is it Sirius? Someone else? Did I miss something? I probably missed something..._**

Hypocrite. ;) Yes, it was Sirius whom Remus was referring to as the other child. In a previous chapter, he and Dumbledore were discussing how very similar Sirius is to an eight-year-old child, accidental magic and all.

_**Cozmic **_- please send some heat my way!

**Author's Note: **Well, it looks like that's all for now. I hope to hear from you all soon about the chapter. Comments, questions, and suggestions are always welcome. Constructive criticism is also welcome. Flames will be used to warm me up these cold winter evenings. I hope you all have a great week and it goes by quickly so the next weekend can hurry here and stick around.

I recalled, some time after posting the previous chapter, that I forgot to suggest a fanfic. I was rather distraught by this, as I enjoy my recommendations as much I enjoyed reading the fic to begin with. That being the case, I am suggesting two this evening.

The first is, unfortunately, not on this site. It is on a Harry/Ginny site entitled Sink Into Your Eyes (or SIYE) and is entitled _Saving Harry_. This fic is by The Seeker and is actually the fanfic that made me like - and chapters into it, love - Ginny Weasley, where before I disliked her character and her romance with Harry.

The second is _Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Futures Past_, by S'TarKan - a fic about Harry going back in time to change the way things occurred. This fic is still in the process of being written and updated slowly, but each of the chapters is well worth the wait and there are a good number already up to enjoy. I _highly_ recommend this fic, as I pine for the chapters myself and lunge for the computer when they arrive.

I do wonder if people check out my recommendations, so if you happen to read one of these fics and enjoy it, let me know, hey? :D Always makes me happy to know I have revealed another great find to a fellow reader.

Happy reading, my friends and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	8. The Injured

**Author's Note: **Epic apologies for taking absolutely _forever_ to update. Apparently, the senior year of college really _is_ as difficult as they say. Ugh. On the plus side, I'm halfway through. Imagine how often I'll be able to update once I'm graduated?

I would like to wish everyone a Happy St. Patrick's Day, which is this Thursday. It's great to be Irish, if for no other reason than I can say I am.

Supreme thanks go to Elenaiel, who rocks my socks off until my feet get cold. She knows she's awesome, but I'm determined to make sure she doesn't forget it.

Enjoy the chapter and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write.  


* * *

_

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**VII**

**The Injured**

**

* * *

**

Dumbledore had little else to do between his impromptu meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt and the scheduled meeting with Elena and Severus. He had moped for some time in his office, but then had thought it best that he visit his other ailing student, as well. The trip to St. Mungo's never took very long for the Supreme Mugwump and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Withcraft and Wizardry. Only Mad-Eye Moody had offered him any trouble, and it had been a refreshing familiarity. The man had demanded Dumbledore answer a series of questions to prove he was who he said, and Dumbledore had, of course, passed the test, bidding Alastor a pleasant evening as he went to visit Draco Malfoy.

The boy in question had been asleep when Dumbledore made his way into the room, but that was probably for the best. Draco needed his rest, and his being awake would do nothing but allow him to witness the various nurses and guards gawking at him, poor child. Such a thing was never comfortable for anyone. Standing at the end of the bed and gazing upon the child wearied Dumbledore. No child, no matter who they were, should be forced to suffer such a fate as this.

Blankets were pulled up to Draco's armpits, one arm tucked beneath their folds while another, wrapped tightly in bandages, lay on top of his chest. Small cuts across the boy's face and neck were clearly healing due to the effects of a oily paste that gleamed in the room's light, and bruises that permeated Draco's pale flesh were also beginning to fade. The most noticeable of all the injuries, however, were those that covered the left side of the boy's face.

There were four scars, revealing the identity and nature of the spell. Parallel to each other, the scars looked almost exactly like the scars an animal might make from slashing a paw across one's face. The spell itself was one that mimicked the attack of the caster's animagus form, and was only capable of being cast by those who were animagi. Lucius Malfoy, Dumbledore knew, was a registered animagus with the form of a wolverine – an incredibly vicious and dangerous animal. The spell itself was not often used because of its nature – it was used to harm, nothing more, and was considered Dark for that reason. Dumbledore had never seen fit to disagree and was horrified to find that such a curse had been used by Lucius on his own _son_.

The curse had caught Draco's eye with two "claws," and because it was a curse scar, Dumbledore knew it would forever remain. The boy's pale features would forever be marred by the shiny, almost silver lines of a wolverine's claws – his father's claws.

Draco had lost sight in one eye because of his father's actions, but Dumbledore wondered if Lucius realized how much _he_ had lost. It seemed unlikely, but Lucius Malfoy had destroyed something very precious, and he would never be able to get it back.

* * *

"Ah, Severus, Elena, good, you're here." Dumbledore stood up and walked around his desk to face them, all trace of sorrow gone from his face. "Conan is in appropriate care, I take it?"

"Minerva is holding his attention for the moment," Elena said, folding her arms behind her back. "What did you wish to speak to us about, Albus?"

"Harry Potter."

Severus groaned and threw himself into a chair. He did _not_ want to be discussing this.

Elena frowned at her husband but turned her attention to the headmaster. "What is this about Harry Potter, Albus?"

"I see Severus has told you nothing of what had occurred recently. I suppose the duty should fall to the one who caused such misery." Dumbledore folded his hands inside his sleeves. "Harry Potter was brought to Hogwarts from his relatives home in dire need of medical attention."

Severus scoffed. "Medical attention, Headmaster? The boy's heart had stopped."

Elena gasped and turned fully to face her husband. "Severus? This is the boy you hate so much?" Severus grimaced. "Was he attacked?"

"His relatives were abusive." Elena turned back to the headmaster. "None of us were aware, or at least aware of how badly he was treated at home. They had hurt him severely before someone found him. Madam Pomfrey and Severus were able to heal him considerably, and he is in the Infirmary as we speak. With luck, he should be able to go home with his guardian, and while that is what I originally called you here to discuss, it is a matter that can wait. Harry is in good care for the moment, and we have a more pressing matter to attend to.

"Namely, Severus – your godson."

Severus' attention was fully summoned at this and he recognized the grave severity in the headmaster's face for what it was. "Draco-"

"Is in St. Mungo's, undergoing professional treatment for his injuries, and under guard from Aurors intent on being certain that no one should do any greater harm to him than has already been done."

"What's been done to him?" Snape asked. It would have been a demand, but he couldn't quite gain the pitch in his voice that he usually reserved for such commands. His thin fingers were white on the arms of the chair he sat in. Elena stood beside him, her olive-toned skin doing nothing to dampen the gleam of her eyes, blazing ferocity.

"Lucius attacked Draco with a variety of curses, not the least of which was the Cruciatus." Severus closed his eyes. "Narcissa is dead, Severus." The Potions Master opened his eyes again, to look at Dumbledore. "Lucius killed her, and was attacking Draco while he attempted to protect his mother from further mutilation."

"Is Draco- will he be all right?" Elena asked. Her voice sounded plaintive and frightened, but for one to look at her, they would realize she was anything but. She was restraining herself, it was clear, for her hands were clenched into tight fists, her lips pressed together into a firm white line, and her eyes were a raging hailstorm of anger. She looked ready to kill – ready to kill Lucius Malfoy – and both men were quite happy not to be him.

"The healers have done most the work that can be accomplished short term. Much of the rest that must be done will be over a period of time, and for this, he will most likely be more comfortable in the company of his godfather." Dumbledore nodded at Severus. "Some damages cannot be repaired, however."

"What do you mean?" Snape asked, his heart leaping up into his throat. He knew the dangers of the Cruciatus Curse – knew the horrors that it caused. If such a fate had befallen Draco, his godson who had been cursed with a father much as Snape himself had been, Severus would find Lucius Malfoy himself and rid the man of his breeding tools before he decided how to dispose of the monster – slowly, of course, very slowly.

"Some of the damage to Draco's face was rather severe," Dumbledore continued, "as was the effect it had on his eyesight." Snape's throat went dry. "He can still see out of one eye, which is a blessing and very nearly a miracle, but I'm afraid nothing can be done for the other.

"I have informed Kingsley Shacklebolt, who rescued Draco before further harm could come to him, that Draco will soon be moved into your care. I have asked that he firecall as soon as Draco wakes up. I believe that the best place for you to take him would be Headquarters. Alastor and young Nymphadora Tonks are watching over Draco at the moment, but I fear his father may seek to complete his failed task."

"Lucius is still alive?" Snape demanded, sitting forward in the chair as though flung. "If Shacklebolt stopped him from harming Draco further, why did he not see fit to destroy the bastard?"

"Kingsley was aware that Draco was in dire need and was swift to take him to St. Mungo's. Lucius was bound, but he managed to escape before more Aurors could arrive. His whereabouts are currently unknown."

"Not difficult to guess."

"Indeed." Dumbledore carefully folded each of his hands into the opposing sleeve of his robes. "Severus, I might suggest that you prepare any potions that Poppy might need. I believe that Kingsley may call soon and I know you will wish to visit Draco immediately."

Severus nodded and stood up, turning on his heel to leave the room. Elena moved to follow the billowing robes of her husband, but Dumbledore called her back.

"Elena, my dear, if you have a moment, there is a delicate matter I have that must be dealt with promptly. I had hoped you might consider it."

Severus had paused in the doorway, looking back at Elena. She smiled at him and waved him off. "I'll be along shortly, Severus. Go to your brewing so you can collect Draco."

The Potions Master nodded and left the room, allowing the door to click shut behind him. Elena turned back to Dumbledore and folded her hands behind her back. "What's on your mind, Albus?"

Dumbledore smiled at the use of his first name. Of all the professors who worked at Hogwarts, only Minerva called him by his given name. After a while, it became something to be feared – hearing Minerva say his name. She was a formidable woman and she was always certain to make sure that her views were taken in. Dumbledore would have been annoyed at how she always claimed he stubbornly held to his views, but it was true. It was one of his more spectacular faults – his refusal to even listen to the ideas of others.

Still, it was nice to hear his name come from the lips of someone who was not about to wring him out. Elena had apprenticed in Greece and had not known Dumbledore until after she had been of age. In the presence of others, she referred to him as Headmaster and sometimes even Professor Dumbledore, but alone she referred to him by his given name, which he preferred. She had not been his student, like the others, or in some cases, like Filius, his superior.

"You are aware, of course, of Sirius Black's situation." Dumbledore had explained to her before the secrecy around Sirius' whereabouts, and his innocence. At her nod, he continued. "Sirius is Harry Potter's godfather and, under normal circumstances, would have taken custody of him years ago. As it is, with the current events having revealed themselves for what they are, I hope to place custody of Harry in the hands of Remus Lupin, a close friend of Sirius whom I trust deeply."

Elena nodded, smiling softly. She had not yet had the pleasure of meeting Remus, but she had heard great things from many of the professors. Minerva McGonagall, who Elena had to admit was both very intimidating and very inspiring, had given a stunning recommendation of Remus for her to ponder over.

Of course, Severus had scoffed at and nearly outright argued against the praise, but Elena had shushed him at the time and allowed him to discuss it with her later. She recognized bitterness when she saw it, especially in Severus, who she thought might be the prince of bitterness himself, and she didn't put much stock in his views.

"Remus is very happy at the chance to help care for Harry. Unfortunately, he suffers from an infliction which prevents him having sole guardianship."

"Yes, his Lycanthropy," Elena said sadly, nodding. She saw Dumbledore falter in surprise. "Ah. I have an… acquaintance who works in the Ministry. When they heard that I was coming to Hogwarts to offer my services as a professor, they felt the need to warn me about the position I said I was taking up."

"Ah." Dumbledore nodded sagely. "They should not have revealed that."

"No, they shouldn't have," Elena agreed, "which is why I saw fit to Obliviate them."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, blue eyes twinkling. He chuckled lightly. "How very clandestine of you, Elena."

She nodded her head slightly in acknowledgment of what she chose to interpret as subtle praise. "If Remus' Lycanthropy keeps him from holding sole guardianship of Harry, may I assume you need someone to take secondary?"

Smiling, Dumbledore nodded. "That is correct. I was hoping you might accept, as we discussed earlier that you were likely to be spending a great deal of time at Grimmauld Place."

"I would be happy to accept, of course, Albus. However, I don't think I could do so on good conscience without first discussing this with Remus, as I will be under co-guardianship."

"Honorable of you, Elena. Remus is in the hospital wing, watching over Harry. If you wish, you may visit him there." Elena smile and rose to her feet. "I would offer a warning, however, about Sirius. He was particularly against the idea, considering your relationship with Severus."

"Yes, I've no doubt that Severus will have an equal amount to say about it when I tell him." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling madly, and Elena found she couldn't help but laugh. "Wouldn't it be amazing if they could agree so easily on everything else."

"Indeed. I'll leave you to it, Elena."

"Have a good evening, Albus."

* * *

Conan was bored. Spending time with Aunt Minerva had been great, and meeting some of the older students had been really exciting. The Weasleys hadn't been incredibly happy, however – not like Conan was at being at Hogwarts over the summer. They had all looked rather concerned about something, but they'd been nice enough. The two twins had been the greatest, all talking after one another and completing one another's sentences, and discussing some pranks that they had pulled. Conan had heard a little about them, of course, from his dad. He called them the Gemini Toxins, but they introduced themselves as Gred and Forge.

Once they had left, Conan had spent some time with Aunt Minerva, talking about getting ready for classes and how excited he was to go to Diagon Alley and get his wand, and a little bit about the Weasleys. Aunt Minerva gave him a mild warning about the Weasley twins, but it was clear that they amused her to a degree.

After that, Aunt Minerva had to get back to work, filling out paperwork and preparing to send out letters to new and returning students. She had received a message from Severus that he had returned to his labs, and so Aunt Minerva sent him off to head back to the labs, down in the dungeons. The only problem was that his dad would be brewing potions, and Conan didn't _like_ potions.

Conan liked history, and if not for the fact that he only ever talked about the Goblin Wars, Conan would happily go see Professor Binns, but there was really only so much to be learned about the goblins and their wars before things became repetitive and Conan got bored. So, Professor Binns was out of the question, Aunt Minerva was busy, and his dad would be wrapped in a cloak of nightshade and other potions ingredients that Conan always saw fit to flee from.

Madam Pomfrey it was!

With a grin on his face, Conan dashed down the corridors at a full run toward the hospital wing.

* * *

"Conan?" Elena walked through her husband's quarters and slipped into the labs via a secret passage few knew about. She glanced around, but was unable to find her son. Severus had already left, his potions successfully completed and sent to Madam—

Elena smiled. Ah yes. Poppy.

Turning, Elena left the labs and hurried up to the hospital wing. She had gone to speak to Minerva first about Albus' request of her, and had learned of Conan's assumed whereabouts. In that time, Severus had finished his necessary brewing and Draco had woken up. Albus and Severus had left to collect him.

And Conan was off bothering Madam Pomfrey. Elena resisted the urge to sigh. She loved her boy dearly, but sometimes she wondered how she could have spawned a child as sociable as Conan, when his father was one of the most antisocial people she had ever met.

It didn't take Elena very long to reach the Hospital Wing, as she'd learned the layout of Hogwarts years before and had little trouble navigating the moving staircases. She didn't know if this was Hogwarts' attitude toward people who had never been students within the confines of her walls, or if a particular headmaster had something to do with it.

In any case, Elena walked into the hospital wing to find her son, and found him. He was sitting cross-legged in the center of a hospital bed, talking emphatically to a sandy-haired man who appeared rather amused by the boy's antics. They both glanced up as she walked in.

"Mum!" Conan bounded from the bed and raced over to her, wrapping his arms about her waist. "Mum! Mr. Lupin was a professor here, did you know? He's knows all sorts of stuff!"

"Does he now?" Elena smiled down at her son and then graced the man – Mr. Lupin – with an appreciative smile. He returned it, and she was rather pleased with how the expression lit up his face. "You would be Remus Lupin, then, I take it?" A blur of movement out of the corner of her eye made her glance at one of the hospital beds, where a young boy lay sleeping with a great black dog lying at his feet. She blinked for a moment, and then smiled, turning back to the man before her.

"That would be me, yes." Remus held out his hand and shook hers. "It's a pleasure to meet Conan's mother. He's quite a smart child."

"Thank you." She smiled down at her son. "And it's Elena. Elena Morely." She tried not to be too amused at how quickly the dog's head snapped up. _Hello to you, too, Mr. Black. _

_

* * *

_**Could the Malfoys use the Dursleys as an example and use it to get Fudge to lose all respect for muggles? **

I have no doubt that they would certainly attempt to do so. Lucius is an opportunist and, should he gain such information, it would be in his nature to use it to his advantage. We all know that Fudge has previously been easily manipulated by Lucius, but as to whether such a thing will happen has yet to be seen.

**Would Voldemort decide to keep Harry as a pet instead of killing him?**

Even deaf and mute, the prophecy still exists, and Voldemort knows enough about it to fear Harry in any capacity. 

**Did I get it right that he's going to live with Harry and the others for the summer?**

That is the plan that Dumbledore has in mind, yes, the safest place for both Harry and Draco being Headquarters.

**Are Draco and Harry gonna meet soon?**

It won't be overly long, but there are going to be a few complications before our two wounded boys get together.

**...with a story like this, how on earth hasn't it breached the hundred-reviews threshold, or even the five-hundred-reviews one, like it clearly deserves?**

You're sweet. I look forward to the day when I break the 100-review threshold.

**'Nightmares of futures past' is an amazing fic, like yours.**

Oh, dear. I never thought to even compare mine to such a brilliant fic as that, so thank you!

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and will let me know what you think. Hopefully, I will have the next chapter up sooner than this one, but we shall see. Finals are crawling upon me far swifter than I would have thought possible.

The fic I am recommending today is _The Best Revenge_, by Arsinoe de Blassenville. It is beautifully long and one of my favorites to read.

Enjoy, have a wonderful holiday, and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	9. The Vanishing

**Author's Note: **As a base note, this chapter is not an April Fool's joke. I wanted to post it today, because today is my brother's 21st birthday, and therefore, very special. So, even though he doesn't read my fic, I would like to wish my little bro a very happy birthday. And also, a happy birthday to Fred and George, just because. :)

Super thanks to the amazing Elenaiel, who performs great leaps over tall buildings to defeat the villains that lie in wait in my writing.

Today's recommended fic is _He Did It His Way_, by Hamm On Wry. It is unfortunately incomplete, but still a great deal of fun to read.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I look forward to all of your comments and your questions and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write.  
_

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**VIII**

**The Vanishing**

* * *

Severus Snape sat in the room of St. Mungo's Hospital, alone but for the unconscious form of his godson. He knew that both Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody stood outside of the room, acting as guards, as he had passed both of them on his way in, after being forced to undergo a test for Moody. Apparently, as far as Moody was concerned, no one else could craft a glare capable of masquerading as Snape.

Although Severus' own dark past had once put him at odds with Shacklebolt and Moody, he had a great deal of respect for the both of them. Mad-Eye came off to most people as nearly-mad in his paranoia, but Severus knew that there was no such thing as being overly cautious as long as someone like Voldemort existed. Shacklebolt, while Severus didn't know him as well as he did Moody, was a fair man with a brain he wasn't afraid to use. That in itself was a rarity, and not something to be taken for granted.

Severus also knew that the respect he had for both men was reciprocated. Knowing that the two men respected him assured Severus that they would not turn to the idle peeking and gossip of lesser people. Here, in the privacy of the hospital room, Severus was allowed a moment to be himself. Here, safe from prying eyes, he was allowed to care.

Severus trailed a hand gently down the side of Draco's face that was layered with scars. The warmth of the boy's skin relieved some of Severus' trepidation, but the fact that the boy didn't even react to his touch still bothered him. Severus had to be careful at all times to keep in character, to never let anyone on the wrong side realize exactly where he stood. Only when they were at school, in the privacy of Snape's office, was he ever allowed to be himself in front of Draco. Severus had cherished those moments, just as he cherished the moments at home with Conan, when he didn't have to hide and was free to just be Severus, a husband and a father, and a godfather.

Severus reached down and gripped Draco's hand in long fingers, squeezing the limp limb lightly, but still failing to get a response. He sighed.

"Draco, I'm sorry about your mother," Severus said quietly, holding Draco's hand tightly in his own. "She loved you very much, and she didn't deserve what happened to her." Severus sighed and leaned back in his chair. "The headmaster told me you were protecting her from being hurt more."

Severus knew that Draco had been injured while protecting Narcissa's body from being further mutilated, and that she had already been dead, but he didn't want to mention that. If Draco _could_ hear him, and it was always possible that his unconsciousness was loose enough to allow outward stimuli to slip through, he didn't want to remind his godson of that horrifying fact. No doubt he couldn't escape it as it was.

"She would be proud of you, Draco." He trailed long fingers over his godson's forehead and down his cheek. "She was always proud of her little dragon."

A knock on the door stopped Severus from saying whatever else he might have. He pulled his hand from Draco's and swiftly rose to his feet, turning to the door as it opened and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and moved swiftly to where Severus was standing.

"We have an unwanted visitor," Shacklebolt murmured, glancing at the door. Severus followed his gaze, but Moody was standing in front of the window and prohibiting any views from either direction from getting through.

Severus reached up and grabbed the privacy curtain, pulling it around Draco's bed and turning to Shacklebolt. "Who?"

"Scrimgouer, the Head of the Auror Department. Someone let slip that the Malfoys were attacked." He gave Severus a wary look. "He believes Draco knows where his father is being kept."

"_Kept_?" Severus nearly snarled. Leave it to Lucius to get a story out quickly enough that people would think he was just another victim. "I take it you were prepared for this?"

Kingsley reached into an inner pocket of his robes and pulled out a green and gold silk handkerchief. "Courtesy of Albus."

Kingsley lay it on top of Draco's arm, and Snape reached out and touched it. "You're coming with us?"

"I was told to remain with Draco, as his guard." Severus nodded and Kingsley and he both gripped the handkerchief over Draco's arm. The sound of the door bursting open and feet bustling into the room was the last thing they heard, before there was a jerk behind their navels and they were gone.

* * *

Ginny didn't feel well.

Over the years, she had learned to distinguish the different types of sicknesses she occasionally felt. A child, especially a wizarding child growing into her magic, would, of course, suffer a common cold or the types of illnesses that occurred when magic built up over time. The first was cared for by mothers, naturally, and the second was dealt with by a release of accidental magic or, once one was equipped with a wand and permitted to use it, by casting spells in class or in practice (or, in the twins' case, in pranking unsuspecting individuals).

This other sickness, though – the one that now made her stomach churn and her chest ache – was one that she had not felt until after her first year at Hogwarts. It was the sensation that was in her blood and bile, when she woke from the nightmares about red slit eyes and hissing and a big nothingness within herself, her will, her own abilities. She would dream about this massive emptiness that was buried in her body, where _Ginny_ was supposed to be, but something else had taken her place. Something else was in that part of her, and so foreign and cruel and _un-Ginny_, that there was no place for her there.

And though that something else had been banished, sometimes the dreams were still enough to call back those feelings as though she were reliving them in real time. When Ginny would wake up from those nightmares – those memories – it would not be fear that caused the sickness, loneliness, or self-hatred like her parents had believed for a time, and possibly still believed. No, it was the realization, the understanding, the _knowledge_, that life was _unfair_, people were _cruel_, and the world was _wrong_. Corrupt. Painful in its truth.

It was a burden she realized that adults bore so fully that they didn't even acknowledge it as anything but maturity. It was so normal for them that they viewed it as adulthood, rather than a loss of innocence. But that's what it was – a loss of that naivety which was all that kept children from being adults. It wasn't age, but truth.

The burden, that same sickness that had haunted Ginny so much, and still sometimes haunted her in the early hours when she woke, was back now. As she sat with her family in the Hogwarts Infirmary, quiet on principle alone, she knew that the reminder of the unfair-cruel-wrong-corrupt-painful truth of life had returned to her, because Harry was lying asleep in a hospital bed, and his uncle had put him there.

Harry had been awake when they arrived. He had been quietly watching a discussion between Mr. Lupin and the woman that they had briefly met in McGonagall's office – Elena. Ginny and the others had been informed, after Elena left, that Harry could not speak, and he could not hear them, and the lot of them hadn't really known what to do. Mum had looked like she wanted to cry, and Ginny was sure that later, she would let herself, but she had held back while they were in the Infirmary, and Ginny was glad.

Ron had surprised all of them, really. She had seen the stunned look on her parents' faces, before Mum had gone all teary-eyed and quickly left the room, and her father had looked so – so _proud_. Because Ron had spared just a moment to study Harry, lying in the hospital bed watching them, before he pulled over a chair, moved the table next to the bed to fit between them, then pulled a collapsible chess set out of his pocket and set it up. He hadn't said anything, but Ginny had watched the smile that curled over Harry's lips, teasing and grateful in turns, before he'd moved himself into a better position and began to lose spectacularly. Ron never said anything but, watching the two of them play, Ron determined and Harry content, it was clear that he didn't _need_ to.

Eventually, Harry had fallen asleep after being beaten multiple times by Ron. Normally, Harry would have given up after getting so thoroughly trounced and let someone else play, but he had seemed to be enjoying himself. Ginny thought it might have been the normalcy in the action, but she hadn't asked what anyone else thought. She had simply watched as, after Harry had dropped off in the middle of the fourth game, Ron packed up the chess set and simply sat there in the chair, watching Harry sleep. It occurred to Ginny that Ron was taking Harry's predicament hard, and part of her wondered what the exact reason was – if it was because he could do nothing to help, that there might be nothing that _could_ be done, or if it was because Ron had borne witness to the cause, and had been incapable of doing anything to stop it. Ginny had, for a time, thought she was to blame for Tom's actions through her. Did Ron blame himself for what had happened to Harry?

"How bad was it, Poppy?"

Ginny's attention was drawn from her thoughts at the sound of her father's voice. Sitting on the hospital bed closest to Madam Pomfrey's office, Ginny turned her head just slightly to see her father standing in front of the mediwitch. Madam Pomfrey, Ginny had observed earlier, looked tired and a little worn down – more than Ginny had ever seen her. She was much paler than usual and the wrinkles on her aging face that often aided in her stern looks were stark against the skin, making her appear older, and possibly frailer. It was a startling change from the usual bustling lioness she was when caring for patients, but no one had commented upon it.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, averting her eyes from Mr. Weasley's for a moment, gazing at something within the office. Eventually, she turned back to him, the expression on her face uncomfortable.

"Honestly, Arthur, I am…" She lifted a hand to touch her eyes, as though thinking of rubbing them but choosing instead to sigh again and lower her hand. "As a healer, I should never express anything less than the utmost hope that a patient recover, for even the smallest of doubts can lead to the patient themselves losing faith in their own magic's ability to help them recover – in their own strength. I should never let myself doubt, Arthur, but I cannot help it. When we lost him that second time, I did not think we would be able to get him back. I had thought that he was too far gone to return and I very nearly released my hold on Aceso's magic."

"You called upon Aceso?" The clear shock in her dad's voice made Ginny frown. She tried to think of who Aceso was, but the name had no meaning for her. Clearly, it was a person, but it was an unfamiliar one. Perhaps a healer from St. Mungo's? But why would Madam Pomfrey have a hold on someone else's magic?

"It was necessary. Mr. Potter was injured far too much for his magic alone to heal himself before more damage could be done. It is probably for the best, however. Aceso was generous, and her magic healed more of Harry's injuries than I had thought it would. I had planned to keep him here for at least a few days after stabilizing him, but there is little reason to. I have been keeping a close watch on him all day. Beyond his inability to speak or hear, he is almost in perfect health." She sighed again, bowing her head slightly. "Almost."

"The Dementia—"

"It's unclear," Madam Pomfrey interrupted gently, shaking her head. "Mental afflictions are as difficult to diagnose as they are to heal. However, if you're asking if it is still a possibility, then the answer is yes – unfortunately, a high one. He has a number of the symptoms." She glanced at Arthur. "You've seen the tremors, of course."

"Yes," Arthur admitted. "They weren't so noticeable at first, but when he was playing chess with Ron, it was hard to ignore how he shook. Is it constant?"

"Frequent. It comes and goes in waves, and aggravates him."

"It probably frightens him," Arthur admitted softly.

"It does all of us. The implications… I hope I'm wrong – horribly wrong, Arthur. I hope we might look back on this one day and realize I was being a complete idiot, but I fear my own track record. What does the future hold for him if I'm right? Can you imagine him in a few years? Trapped in a wheelchair, unable to move, living life as a cripple no more powerful than the weakest muggle?"

"You don't know that you're right," Arthur said gently, but it was clear he was only trying to reassure.

"But I fear I am," Madam Pomfrey said sadly, "and that's enough."

They were silent for a time, before Arthur moved toward the door. "I suppose it would be in Harry's best interest if we removed ourselves before we woke him. It would probably be best for you to rest, as well."

Madam Pomfrey smiled gently at this. "Such advice sounds familiar, Arthur. I do believe I once said something similar to you, years ago."

"So you did. And you were as correct then as I am now. I know how exhausting it is to bear the Summoning, Poppy. If there's anything I can do—"

"Rest assured I will let you know." Madam Pomfrey smiled gently at him in gratitude. "My thanks, Arthur. Now, off with you. Perhaps things will shine in a different light in the morning."

Ginny turned her attention back to Harry, as her father made his way from Madam Pomfrey's office, the door closing behind him. He paused next to her and reached out to squeeze her shoulder lightly. "Come on, Gingersnap. It's time to go home."

Ginny looked up at her father and nodded, but couldn't bring herself to ask if they could come back and visit Harry the next day. Madam Pomfrey looked exhausted and her father had even commented upon it. Ginny didn't understand what had happened, but she figured if they were home tomorrow, she could try doing a little research – just enough to find out who Aceso was, and what her father had meant by a Summoning.

* * *

"A _basilisk_?"

"Um… yes?" Ron ducked his head a little, looking at Sirius with no small amount of fear. The man's grey eyes were gleaming, but his already fair skin had been leeched of all color. Ron was reminded of that day when they had first met him, when he had looked dangerous, mad, and so… so ready to hurt someone.

"Now, Sirius, don't take it out on Ron. He didn't do anything." Remus was standing in the middle of the hospital wing, facing his friend, his hands held up in a placating gesture. His tone was the same as one used to try to calm a wild animal, and Ron admitted he couldn't see much difference between the two where Sirius was concerned.

His father had told them all that they would be returning home, but Ron had been talking to Sirius while watching Harry. In hindsight, he probably should have been more careful about what he said, but Sirius' helpless anger at the situation had drawn Ron's own emotions to the forefront, and he had started something of a rant about how unfair it all was. After everything they had faced, the most damage Harry ever received came, not from Voldemort, but from his uncle. Now, sitting in a chair and wishing Sirius wasn't between him and the door, Ron wished he had refrained from saying anything.

The rest of his family was out in the corridor. Sirius had asked him to stay behind for a few minutes, while the others left the room and Madam Pomfrey was in Dumbledore's office, giving a last update to the headmaster before she settled down to rest. As soon as the doors had shut him inside, Remus had cast a series of silencing and privacy spells about the room. Knowing how proficient the man was with a wand, Ron was pretty sure his family didn't hear anything, despite Sirius' loud tone.

"Remus, we weren't told about _any_ of this!" Sirius paced back and forth between the beds, his lips curled up in a snarl and his grey eyes icy. "Harry never said a word, but he shouldn't have needed to. We should have been told by Dumbledore _ages_ ago, but he said nothing. A possessed professor, a _basilisk_, the ghost of Voldemort the younger! Dementors, which we did know about, of course, and then last year, that damnable tournament, and then Voldemort himself! Isn't this school supposed to be _safe_? Why the hell didn't Dumbledore do a better job of protecting Harry?" Striking out, Sirius kicked the side of an empty bed, making the frame shake. "Remus! If it was so easy for Voldemort to get in here years past, why was that fucking Tournament _ever allowed here_?"

"I don't know, Sirius, but yelling about it isn't going to get us answers, and it certainly isn't going to do anything to help."

Sirius swung around to face the werewolf with a snarl. "Damn it, Lupin! At least act like you give a fuck!"

Remus raised his eyes to meet his friend's, and Ron swallowed sharply at the sight of his eyes. The grey-green color that usually permeated his irises had been entirely overrun by gold, and Ron couldn't help but sink a little in his chair at the predatory gleam in that gaze, so very, unmistakably _wolf_.

"I assure you, Sirius. I am far from calm, considering the circumstances."

He spoke so softly, his voice was almost a whisper. It was more effective than a scream in making Sirius react. The ex-convict halted his pacing abruptly and turned to stare at Remus, his entire body freezing to a halt as their eyes met. A moment later, he let out a shuddering breath as he raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes. "Rem…" He shook his head slowly and sank down onto a bed, closing his eyes as he hands rested limply at his sides. "I'm sorry."

Remus watched his friend for a moment, before turning to Ron and nodding softly in an attempt to reassure him, inwardly sighing at how the paleness of his skin made his freckles stand out so prominently. "Thank you, Ronald," Remus said quietly, and was unsure if he was able to put any warmth into his voice. "Please tell your father that I will let him know when Harry has been relocated."

Ron paused, giving Remus a curious look. He knew that Harry was supposed to be going with the both of them to a secret place, and that the others would be able to visit him once they were all settled in. So, relocating was precisely what they would be doing, upon Harry's release from the Hospital Wing later today. Except, the way that Remus said that didn't sound quite right – not like they were just taking Harry home, but rather, somewhere… else.

Ron thought about saying something, but it was a brief consideration. Remus was watching him with an expression of gentle intelligence – the same expression he had given them in class, when he was their professor. It was a kind gaze that assured them that he would teach them of the Dark Arts, but they would be safe in his care. It was a gaze that both asked them to, and assured them that they could, trust him.

And, of course, Ron did trust him, because Harry trusted him.

So instead of calling him on what he heard, Ron simply nodded. He didn't have to say "take care of him," because he knew they would. And he didn't have to ask them to tell Harry he said to get better soon, because Harry knew Ron wanted that. So he said nothing, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He met his family in the hall, but he didn't immediately say anything, because his dad was smart.

He figured he could wait until they got home, to see if his dad was as good at reading between the lines.

Still in the Infirmary, Remus turned back to face Sirius. The man was bent over, his fingers running through dark hair as he stared at the floor. For a while, there was nothing but an uncomfortable silence between the two of them that stretched on cruelly.

Finally, "I really am sorry, Remus. I didn't mean it." Sirius slowly lowered his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know you care about him as much as I do."

Remus nodded. "And I know you're angry, Padfoot." He watched as the familiar nickname caused the tension in Sirius' shoulders to ease. "I am, as well."

"He was supposed to be safe here." It came out as a whisper, as though Sirius was pleading to the world for an explanation he would not receive. His entwined his fingers and leaned his forehead against them, gritting his teeth. "Is there anywhere he'll be safe from that monster?"

After a moment, Remus sighed. "This world has many monsters, Sirius. Some of them, it seems, do mean well."

"You and I both know where that road of good intentions leads, Remus."

Remus nodded. "Sirius." He paused for a moment, glancing to the side and thinking. He had always placed such faith in Dumbledore – such trust. The headmaster was the only reason he had been able to come to Hogwarts as a child; he'd fought for Remus' right to go despite the lycanthropy that cursed him. For years, Remus' gratitude had been paid back in loyalty.

But it wasn't just Remus now. He had Harry to worry about – a mere child who had faced more horrors than most aurors. It was cruel of life to have done such a thing to him, but crueler still that it had been aided. They had been kept in the dark, and Harry had been left in a dangerous home, thrown into disastrous situations, because of that. Remus had always trusted Dumbledore but, apparently, Dumbledore didn't trust them. Not enough.

And Harry's life – be it his physical well-being or his emotional health – was not worth the loyalty that Remus had given Dumbledore all those years. He was worth far more than that, and until Dumbledore realized that – realized what he was risking – he couldn't be trusted.

"You stayed under the radar of the Ministry, Dementors, and Dumbledore for a long time, Sirius," Remus said, and watched the ex-convict's head snap up to meet his gaze. "Do you think you could do it again?"

Sirius frowned. "Remus?"

"If no one else is willing to do what has to be done to protect Harry, Sirius, then _we_ _will_." He stepped forward and held his hand out to his friend. "I know how to hide what I am, but to completely disappear is quite a feat, my friend. I don't suppose you have magic enough for three?"

Sirius lips turned up into a smile, and though the reasoning for what would inevitably be a grand amount of deceit was grim, he couldn't help the mischievous glint that flickered in his eyes. Remus was glad to see it.

"We're creatures of the night, Moony," Sirius said, clasping Remus' hand and hauling himself to his feet. "Becoming a shadow is no trouble at all."

When Madam Pomfrey returned to the hospital wing ten minutes later, it was to find it completely empty of other life. All of the beds were made and it looked as though no one had been there, save for the folded piece of parchment on the nightstand. It was addressed to Dumbledore.

_When you're ready to trust us with the truth, we'll be waiting. _

And though Dumbledore would spent the next month searching for Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Harry Potter, he would not find them.

* * *

**Author's Note: **((shuffles)) Riiiiight... I'm gonna run away now.

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	10. The Letter

**Author's Note: **As some of you may have become aware, I am no longer accepting Anonymous Reviews. I apologize to those of you who submitted questions or reviews in this manner. Unfortunately, I have received a number of rather rude reviews recently, and I simply don't have time to concern myself with people who would rather insult me personally than make any comment on my fanfiction. Therefore, Anonymous Reviews will remain turned off indefinitely. I would also like to note that Flames will no longer be accepted. While I am happy to review constructive criticism and consider it a form of learning and growth, I will delete any and all reviews that contain personal insults toward myself, and I will not respond to them, because frankly, they are no more worth my time than the people who write them.

Now that that is done, I would like to give special thanks to Elenaiel, who has been keeping my spirits up with her wonderful betaing abilities, as I suffer through Final essays and exams. She knows she's as awesome as the Grey Havens from which she takes her name.

Today is my 23rd birthday, by the way, and I am celebrating it by sending you all the tenth chapter of this fic! Herein, my friends, we begin our descent into the rotting depths of _The Search For Life and Death_. It shall be a fun ride.

Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy the chapter. I look forward to your questions, your comments, your reviews and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**X**

**The Letter**

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Dad took us all to Hogwarts to see Harry. I talked to Snuffles some and ended up accidentally telling him about the snake problem in second year, and that really bad teacher we had in first. He was really unhappy about it, and so was Lupin._

_I didn't say anything to Dad yet, but Lupin said he'll send him a letter when they've "relocated" Harry. I think they might be leaving._

_- Ron_

* * *

_Ron,_

_Ron, are you _sure_? Did Professor Lupin say anything else to you to hint at that? Did he give you any clues about where they're taking Harry? Just tell me what he said _exactly_ and I'll see if I can't figure it out. _

_And how was Harry? I haven't been able to go see him, yet. I tried to use the floo in the tavern near my house, but for some reason, it's not working now. I was able to floo to Dumbledore's office before, so I don't understand why I can't get to Hogwarts now. I thought about flooing to Honeydukes and walking, but I have a feeling they lock the gates over the holiday. _

_Let me know as soon as Professor Lupin sends your dad a letter! Are you sure they're leaving, Ron? That might not go over well, and Harry was hurt pretty bad, wasn't he? I mean, wouldn't it be safer to stay here, where Madam Pomfrey can help Harry if he needs it?_

_- Hermione_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_I don't remember everything that was said, but Lupin said 'Let your dad know I'll send him a letter when we've relocated Harry' or something like that. He didn't hint at them going anywhere specific, but I just got the feeling they weren't planning on sticking around. _

_Harry's deaf and he can't speak. He shakes sometimes, too. I don't know if it's permanent or not. No one would really talk about it or tell us anything. _

_No news yet._

_- Ron_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Couldn't wait until you sent a letter back, so I'm sending this with Errol. Though you better send your reply with Pig - I don't know if Errol can handle another run. _

_Dad just got back from talking to Dumbledore. Lupin and Snuffles vanished from the hospital wing, and they took Harry with them. They left Dumbledore a letter – I don't know what it said. No one knows where they are._

_- Ron_

* * *

_Ron,_

_I got your second letter just before I sent back my original reply, so I'm rewriting my reply. Errol looks horrible, so I'm going to let him go home now. Pig looks content enough to wait for me. _

_I guess you were right about Professor Lupin's hinting, if they're gone. Do you know why they left? If Professor Dumbledore doesn't even know where they are, I wonder if the letter they left might have been a little negative. Did your dad tell you anything about it?_

_I suppose they have to have had a good reason for disappearing. Professor Lupin doesn't seem like the type of person to go running off without thinking things through, though I can't say the same about Snuffles. You don't suppose Professor Lupin got dragged into doing something, do you?_

_Deaf and mute? Are you sure, Ron? That's really not good. And he's been shaking? The speech and hearing impairments might be indicative of brain injury, and I think head trauma can cause tremors, too. How often did he shake – was it constant or only some of the time? I'm going to do some research into this._

_If you hear anything, let me know right away. I hope Harry's all right. _

_- Hermione_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Mum and Dad are really angry. Lupin sent my dad a letter like he said he would. I got a look at it, but it just said they've taken Harry somewhere he'll be safe from Dumbledore, until he's ready to be honest with them. And then they told my dad not to try looking for them, because he'd never find them. I'd quote it word for word, but I didn't get a good enough look to remember it exactly. _

_He didn't shake all the time – it came in spurts, I guess. And yeah, Lupin told us when we got there that Harry's hearing and speech had been affected. He didn't say if it was permanent or not, but he looked sorta worried about it. _

_Lupin and Snuffles will take good care of Harry. They love him – you know that. _

_- Ron_

* * *

_Ron,_

_I did some research on head trauma and brain injury. If Harry was struck the right way, that could cause impairments to his speech and hearing. Unfortunately, it could be temporary or permanent, and it's impossible to know whether it's temporary until he regains his ability to hear or speak, which he might never do. _

_Snuffles stayed hidden for a long time. If they don't want to be found, I bet even Dumbledore won't be able to find them. You said Snuffles and Professor Lupin were angry about the snake king and the garlic turban? If they didn't know about it, that means that Harry didn't tell them, and neither did Dumbledore. I wonder if that's what they meant about him being honest with them. It would make sense, and I could understand why they would be angry about it. _

_The tremors could be from anything, really – head trauma, stress, an extended fight or flight reflex, a reaction to a potion, or something else. Harry might already have recovered from it, if it was from something like stress. Being with Snuffles and Professor Lupin would help ease his mind, I'm sure. And you're right, they do love him, but so do we, and I still worry about him. _

_- Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Mum and Dad grounded Ron from sending any post. Dumbledore came over to ask if any of us knew where Professor Lupin and his dog would take Harry, and Mum and Dad are really angry that they've disappeared. Ron told them it was "none of their bloody business," and he's been confined to his room. Don't send anymore letters or you might get into trouble. Dumbledore might come to your house, too, to ask if you know anything. He's angry about it, too, I think._

_Hopefully we'll see you sometime this summer. We can talk then._

_- Ginny_

* * *

Albus Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose, gusting out a weary sigh. Not even halfway through the holiday, this was racking up to be the most stressful summer he had experienced in years.

It had been just over a month since Sirius and Remus had disappeared with Harry, and though Dumbledore had spent the time since then searching for them, he had nothing to show for it. Not a hint of where they were or where they might have been. He had asked for help from some of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, but even Mundungus Fletcher (who was quite talented when it came to finding things that didn't wish to be found) was at a loss. Sirius, it appeared, had at least gained that small benefit from his imprisonment in Azkaban for all those years.

Dumbledore shook his head lightly, disappointed in himself. There was no good way to look at what had happened to Sirius – no silver lining on the storm cloud that had been his lot in life. Dumbledore should never have even thought such a thing, that the man could have benefited from that horrific and ongoing event. There was not enough light in the world to dispel the shadow of that misfortune. And to think, it hadn't affected him alone, either. Harry, too, had suffered from Sirius' fate, for if the boy's godfather had not been sent to Azkaban, Harry would have grown up loved and cared for…

Dumbledore replaced his spectacles and glanced over at Fawkes with a sigh. The phoenix was standing on his perch, looking decidedly content – a direct juxtaposition to his human companion's state of mind.

"I don't suppose another attempt might convince you?" Dumbledore asked, knowing it was futile before he even opened his mouth. Still, it reassured him that he had tried, even as the phoenix gave him a look that was clearly sardonic, and turned to stare out the window.

Phoenixes were not like wizards.

The magic of wizards brought with it the limitations of combatable magicks. The owls used by wizards to deliver post had all been bred for that particular purpose, from the original ten owls that Ulrich Aviahart had enchanted centuries before. Wizard owls were much smarter than regular owls, and though they were able to find the recipient of their letters through the magic bred into them, the magic was not theirs to manipulate – it was wizard magic passed through their genes. Because of this, a wizard who was sending a letter could use a spell to block the recipient from tracing the letter's origins, and block the owl from being able to find them again. It could be useful on one side, but was quite annoying on the other.

Phoenixes were not owls. They had not been enchanted with a wizard's magic; phoenixes were creatures _of_ magic. They had magic they could use, and were one of only a few creatures that existed only so long as magic itself existed. There was no wizard in existence more powerful, magically or otherwise, than a phoenix. Fawkes, if he had any desire, could easily flame straight to the side of Sirius Black and bring him back before Dumbledore, and there would be nothing that could be done to stop him.

The problem was that Fawkes didn't want to, and Dumbledore, despite his many titles and grand standing in the eyes of the public, could not make him.

There was no doubt in Dumbledore's mind that Fawkes knew precisely where the three missing people were. The phoenix had once appeared to Harry when he'd had need of him down in the Chamber of Secrets, and that was not something done lightly. Phoenixes were notoriously finicky creatures, and much like cats in that regard. However, their reasons were different. Cats were simply undomesticated and, in Dumbledore's opinion, would never be tamed, though people still insisted on trying. Phoenixes, however, were wild creatures, and this was accepted, at least by those who actually cared to think about it. Some actually did think that Fawkes was Dumbledore's familiar, but this was not the case. Fawkes was a friend and, as far as Dumbledore was concerned, he did not deserve the phoenixes' company, but he was grateful for it, nonetheless.

Although a phoenix was known well for appearing only to those who had kind hearts, it was still rare that one should appear to any wizard at all. Fawkes had appeared to Dumbledore nearly a century before, but it was only a few decades ago that he had become an almost constant companion. And though the phoenix would often perch on the stand in Dumbledore's office during his meetings with various professors, students, and otherwise, Fawkes was still quite a solitary creature. It had come as quite a shock to learn that the phoenix had not only appeared to Harry down in the chamber, but that he had carried the Sorting Hat down with him, no doubt with the knowledge in his fire-bound heart that Harry would draw from it the blade that had been lost for generations.

Talking to Harry after he returned from the Chamber with Ginny Weasley en tow, Dumbledore had hinted to Harry that Fawkes had appeared to him because the boy had shown great loyalty to Dumbledore. It was not an outright lie, because he had not said that it had been only that which summoned Fawkes to Harry's side, but he had not elaborated. He wondered now if that had been out of shock at learning such a thing, or petty jealousy.

"You would protect him, even from me, dear friend?" Dumbledore was aware that his voice was quiet as he spoke, almost plaintive, and he wished he could make it sound stronger. Unfortunately, he had begun to doubt himself in the last month, as each day passed without sight of the missing three. Arthur Weasley had received a letter from Remus Lupin, assuring him of their safety and cautioning them in the futility of attempting to find them. Dumbledore sighed. It had further implicated him as being the reason that they had left, and he had no doubts that they meant every word of it, even after this amount of time had passed. Dumbledore's mistake in placing Harry with the Dursleys had been an honest, if foolish, one, and though it had caused Harry no small amount of harm, Dumbledore had done it with the best of intentions.

Young Ronald Weasley had revealed to his father later that Sirius and Remus had learned from him about Harry's encounters with the various faces of Voldemort over the years, and it wasn't hard to realize that it was their lack of knowledge about these dangers that had driven them to leaving. Dumbledore wasn't sure that he disagreed with them in their anger that they hadn't known, but it had seemed foolish to tell them about past events that they could do nothing about. Harry had accomplished a great many feats since coming to Hogwarts and Dumbledore was profoundly proud of the boy. He was also well aware of the boy's modesty and how he tried to avoid the attention that so often came with his natural desire to help – and often to save – people. Not bringing up the past seemed like the best idea.

Dumbledore sighed again. Apparently, he was mistaken.

"I don't suppose you would appear to them if my intention were to apologize?"

Fawkes had turned back around on his perch, watching Dumbledore. At this, he raised his head slightly and then tilted it to the side. A feeling of mild disbelief rippled through Dumbledore and the man sighed.

"No… no, I suppose they would have no reason to." Believe him, that was. From what they had said so far, it was clear that they distrusted Dumbledore, and even if he should reach them with an apology, it was unlikely that they would trust his sincerity.

Fawkes was very observant, and in moments such as these, Dumbledore appreciated his council. The phoenix did not speak – Dumbledore had coined a theory about three decades prior that phoenix were incapable of speech, or rather, not incapable so much as that they had no use for it. For a phoenix, emotion and intention were all that mattered, for that was what defined a creature. Humans had long been separated from each other by a language barrier, and it was even more difficult for humans to understand animals. Words, so often relied upon, fell short when communicating with other beasts, and meanings were lost in translation. Words could be so misleading, and so easily misunderstood, that they were undoubtedly unreliable.

Emotions, however, and intention, drove all creatures. Emotions – what a person felt about a particular action or instance – and intentions – the _why_ of the person feeling that way – was all that a phoenix needed, because together, that was truth. Fawkes was perfectly capable of getting his point across to Dumbledore by projecting an emotion – in this case, by suggesting the disbelief that Sirius and Remus would feel under the circumstances the headmaster had recommended. Knowing the phoenix for as long as he had, it wasn't difficult to come to the appropriate conclusion.

"Then what do you suggest, my friend? Do I simply wait for them to return September 1st? That is, if they choose to allow Harry to return?"

The phoenix gave him an encouraging look, and sang a gentle note of reassurance. Dumbledore closed his eyes, sighing as the emotions of calm and contentedness washed over him. There was nothing so beautiful as the song of a phoenix – nothing that could so easily calm a frantic heart. Dumbledore was reminded that Fawkes had once sang to Harry, a feat even more rare than a phoenix simply appearing to another person. Fawkes truly did care for that boy.

With a sigh, Dumbledore turned back to the letter he had been reading before he attempted to move Fawkes again. He had been receiving quite a number of letters recently, and though this was not unusual, he wished they held some better news.

_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,_

_I am Officer Reanna Garda, of the Muggle & Magicks Bureau in America. I'm writing you on behalf of a rather unorthodox occurrence earlier today. I am aware of the fact that a witch or wizard attending Hogwarts that becomes involved in a case of child abuse are assigned to the Ministry of Magic in England. For whatever reason, we recently not only received a full and detailed report of child abuse for a young wizard in the Ministry's jurisdiction, but we also received the abusive muggles in question. _

_Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley arrived in the lobby of our offices here in New York, via a spell the likes of which I have never seen before. Not just the three muggles in question, but rather, their entire house, which had been carefully shrunk down to such a size as to fit perfectly inside an empty cubicle, without disturbing anything. _

_I'm afraid that we are somewhat at a loss as to how to reverse the shrinking charm on the house, but the three muggles were swiftly retrieved from its confines, wherein they were immediately returned to their normal sizes. A few other effects of the spell remained active, however. Vernon and Petunia Dursley were caught in a stasis spell that not only paralyzed their movement, but halted all of their bodily functions. They remained unaware of anything that had been going on around them, until we released them from the spell. In my opinion, that was quite a mistake, and you should know that Vernon Dursley is currently being contained, considered a danger both to himself and those around him. Petunia Dursley is also in confinement, pending a decision about where a trial should be held, not only concerning the damages done to her nephew, but also those done to her son. _

_Dudley Dursley is now a ward of the state. He has been removed from the care of his parents, a restraining spell has been put in place to make certain that neither of his parents can get within thirty feet of him, and we are simply waiting for an Obliviation Crew to come and erase his memory. _

_I have sent all of this information to you, because I have a younger cousin who attended Hogwarts and now works for the Ministry of Magic. She has never had anything but good things to say about you, and has told me how much you care for the students under your guard. I do not know who performed such a spell to send these reports and the muggles to us, rather than to your Ministry, but we are currently working with the Ministry of Magic to decide where a trial and punishment should take place. I would not be adverse to hearing your opinion on the matter, Headmaster, as this incident is rather unprecedented and, quite frankly, these reports have me at a bit of a loss. I have seen the damage done to Dudley Dursley, but if half of the information in these reports is true, I may have to ask that someone perform a diagnostic check upon Vernon and Petunia Dursley, just to ascertain that they are, indeed, human. _

_I have included a copy of the reports for your perusal. If I may be so bold, sir, I would advise you not to review them in any place but utter privacy. My partner was, unfortunately, taken off of the case due to the fact that she had been emotionally compromised by the information within. Regardless of how many officers within the Bureau I believe would turn a blind eye, it's against protocol to murder suspects._

_I would tell you that I look forward to hearing from you about this matter, sir, but frankly, I hope I wake up tomorrow to learn that it was all a nightmare. _

_Still, I await your owl._

_Reanna Garda  
Muggle and Magick Bureau  
Child Services and Safety Division  
New York City, NY, United States of America_

Dumbledore lowered the letter back onto the desk with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose again. He had been wondering what had happened to the Dursleys. In all of the initial chaos, the muggles had been forgotten, and Dumbledore had only remembered that they had not done anything in regards to them once Sirius and Remus had disappeared with Harry. Even then, it was two days after the disappearance of the three that someone finally made to Number Four Privet Drive, only to find that, though the yard, flowerbeds, and mailbox were still in place, the Dursley's house had simply vanished.

Tracking, revealing, and summoning charms had been used in great excess, but to no avail. The house had simply disappeared, and the Dursleys along with it. A little over three weeks later, it had finally been found.

Sent to America! Dumbledore didn't have to think very hard about that. Who would have more reason to distrust the Ministry of Magic than a werewolf who had been outcast all his life for a disease he could not help, an innocent man who spent twelve years in hell without a trial, and a young boy who had been nothing more than a tool to sell more papers? Dumbledore had little doubt that at least one of the three of them had seen fit to send the cause of so much damage to a place far more likely to properly react to it. The name Harry Potter did not have nearly as much meaning over in the states as it did in England. Perhaps that was for the best.

Dumbledore thumbed through the report that Garda had sent him with the letter. He had yet to read it, and was somewhat disgruntled with himself for this. It wasn't that he hadn't had time (not that he hadn't been busy), or that he had never been alone, as his current location suggested, but rather that he had been disturbed by the officer's warning. He was not looking forward to discovering all the hell that his foolishness had cast upon Harry, and how selfish of him. Young Harry had been forced to live whatever horrors lie within those pages for nearly fourteen years, and all Dumbledore would have to do is read about them.

Still… he set the report aside for the moment, and turned to another letter. He didn't bother reading this one again, as he had already done so multiple times. Instead, he merely glanced at the signature, and sighed.

_Miriam Strout  
Janus Thickey Ward  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

One of the things that had been bothering Dumbledore since learning about the truth of Harry's home life and his own mistake was that he had never received word for Arabella Figg. The old squib had been placed on Magnolia Crescent as a way for Dumbledore to make certain that Harry remained safe. A squib was perfect as a lookout in the muggle neighborhood, because she was accustomed to living as a muggle, but able to see things that they chose not to.

Dumbledore had thought it was the perfect plan, and had been quite happy when Arabella had volunteered herself all those years ago. She had always had a soft spot for those who didn't quite fit in with the rest of the world. Dumbledore thought it probably had something to do with how she grew up as a squib in a family of wizards and witches, watching as her brothers and sisters went to school to learn magic, leaving her behind. The woman hadn't been resentful, but rather sympathetic toward any creature that didn't quite fit in. She had, over the years, taken to adopting half-kneazles who wandered into her home. Unaccepted by full-blooded kneazles but too smart to fit in with regular cats, the half-breeds had been left alone to find their own place. Once Arabella had taken a couple of them in, word had got around to the rest, and Arabella became known quite well as being mad for cats. Dumbledore had always been rather fond of the woman for her view on life in that regard – finding the silver lining in what most would consider to be a damnable fate, as a squib.

Like her half-kneazle companions, Arabella had been more than happy to keep an eye on Harry, who himself was an outcast in Wizarding society for his fame, and in Muggle society for his magic. Dumbledore had been certain that if anything had gone wrong, he would have heard about it.

He honestly hadn't considered the possibility of something happening to Arabella.

Mental deficiencies were quite rare in wizards. Their magical core grew inside of them from the moment they were born, and in most cases, any great illnesses or problems were healed and corrected by the magic itself – self-preservation. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that squibs were quite like muggles in that regard.

Arabella Figg had once had a younger brother whom she was quite fond of. He had been born a wizard, but his magical core had, for whatever reason, not grown very fast or very large. When he became ill in his youth, his magic wasn't strong enough to combat the illness, and he had deteriorated over time until, at age fifteen, Newton Figg died.

It's funny how the mind works. It was horrible that Harry had suffered because no one had thought to check on Arabella's welfare, but Dumbledore was glad to know that Arabella had suffered no greater distress from what she had come to believe was her brother next door. Apparently, the woman had been seeing visions of her brother infrequently for a long time, but had always been able to tell that they were mere memory or hallucination. It had never occurred to her to inform anyone about it, and so no one knew when she began to see Harry and mistake him for another vision of her brother. And when Harry began to look more worn, injured, and sick… he simply began to look more like Newton Figg had, before he died.

Arabella had sometimes had Harry over to visit, during which time she would show him photo albums of her family and her cats. It was unfortunate that she had often mistaken Harry's visits for spending time going over old memories with her younger brother, and that Harry had never picked up on that. So much of it had occurred in her mind, however, and she had spent so long keeping Harry out of the loop, not telling him who she really was and why she was there, that perhaps it came of no surprise that she never realized that she thought he was someone else. And no one had ever checked on her.

Dumbledore sighed. No one had ever checked on Harry, either.

And all of this because they were trying to keep things quiet and unknown, from the general public, the media, Voldemort, and his followers. But things had been kept from Harry, as well – so very many things, but that was for the best, Dumbledore was sure. As brave as he was, Harry was still a child. He was not ready to know of the prophecy. Dumbledore wouldn't place that on his shoulders yet.

But he had seen what had come of keeping things from Sirius and Remus. Perhaps much of this could have been prevented if he had simply told them about what had occurred in the past. What harm could revealing that small truth have done? Nothing could be done to change it now, and perhaps then they wouldn't have lost their trust in him, even if he did intend to keep some things from them still. There were some truths they simply weren't ready to deal with, and he would not burden them. They had quite enough to deal with, as it was.

A knock on the door interrupted Dumbledore's musings. Surprised at being visited at such an hour of the night, he called out for the person to enter, not bothering to check on who it was first.

The door opened and Minerva McGonagall stepped into the office, a rolled piece of parchment clutched in her fingers. She glanced at Fawkes for a moment, before turning her eyes to Dumbledore.

"You're up quite late this evening, Minerva," Dumbledore noted, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. He noted that, as usual, the movement did nothing to alter McGonagall's temperament. The woman would never be swayed by him.

"Albus," she greeted, sounding a little distracted. "I wonder if I might ask for Fawkes' assistance with something." It wasn't quite a request, because it wasn't something that Dumbledore could truly grant or deny. The phoenix would do as he wished, regardless of Dumbledore's opinion on the matter. That much had already been made clear.

Dumbledore made a gentle sweeping gesture with his hand. "Whatever he desires, Minerva, you know that as well as I."

"Yes." Minerva pursed her lips and then stepped up to the phoenix. "Would you mind?" she asked quietly, holding out the roll of parchment.

The phoenix reached out with a leg and took the roll of parchment in fierce talons. He chirped in affirmation and glanced at Dumbledore with an expression that the headmaster couldn't quite read. Then, without another sound, he disappeared in a burst of flame. For some reason, he left behind the impression upon Dumbledore that a question of his had just been answered.

"Ah, Minerva," he said, as the woman turned to leave with a word of gratitude, "may I ask whom you asked Fawkes to appear to?"

The Head of Gryffindor House hesitated a moment, her hand on the door, before glancing back at the headmaster. "Remus Lupin sent me a letter," she said quietly. Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up into his hairline as she continued, "He ended it by offering Fawkes' services as a post carrier."

"Did he indeed?" Dumbledore asked softly. He wondered if, perhaps, the phoenix _had_ appeared to the missing trio. Remus was no man's fool and he knew better to trifle with the idea that a phoenix could be mastered. It was entirely possible that Fawkes had offered his services to the werewolf, and Remus had simply passed on the message to his former Head of House.

"Well, that is interesting," Dumbledore said, blue eyes like candlelight. "I wonder, Minerva, if you intend to continue correspondence with your former student?"

"I would, of course, not be adverse to the idea," Minerva said cautiously.

_No, of course you wouldn't. _Minerva had always had a soft spot for Remus Lupin. That had been clear from the first day that the stern woman had met the shy, sandy-haired eleven-year-old, so unsure of himself. Over his years attending Hogwarts, the two had held a relationship that underwent a series of transformations. Minerva had started as a distant, stern professor, but had progressed to advisor, then mentor, then friend, and later to something almost parental. Dumbledore wasn't certain if Minerva knew how much she meant to Remus, who had gone from an uncertain, cautious little boy to a young man with a loyal and steadfast heart, all under her watchful eye. He knew that Remus Lupin meant a great deal to her, and it really shouldn't have surprised him so much that Remus would turn to her for aid, when he himself had become something of a… liability.

"I wonder, Minerva, if you might be so kind as to help me with something in regards to Remus and his charges." Dumbledore held back a sigh when the woman's caution was not cracked by a smile at his gentle teasing. He continued on, before she might become more concerned about his intentions. "I feel I must make amends, Minerva, for a great many things. The first of which will be doing what I should have done the moment there was time."

Fawkes flared back into existence on his perch, flames dancing wildly into non-existence. There was a rolled up piece of parchment clutched in his claws, filled with magic. Dumbledore could sense the privacy charms from where he sat. Fawkes gave him a look that, on a human, might have been quite identical to a raised eyebrow.

"I believe it's time I was honest with them."

* * *

**Is there a muggle treatment for Dementia Pugilistica?**

There is no known treatment to cure Dementia Pugilistica. As with many things, there are medications to slow the degenerative process, but nothing that will halt it.

**Also would a muggle hearing aid help Harry? **

No. A hearing aid will help a person who is partially deaf to hear better, because it amplifies the vibrations that allow a human to hear sound waves. As Harry is unable to hear _at all_, a hearing aid will do him no good.

**Author's Note:** I would also like to make a note that sometimes things are unclear more than just due to accidental confusion, but also because the story focuses on a select few perspectives. I do not write in third person omniscient, so you will, of course, not know everything, and neither do the characters themselves. If any of you are fans of Edgar Allan Poe, you are likely familiar with the unreliable narrator - a favorite writing technique of mine. If you would like to read a good example, I would suggest his short story, "The Black Cat." It is exquisite.

As always, reviews are welcome in the form of comments and questions, but I won't answer everything. :D It is the mystery that makes it fun, but I'd love to hear your guesses.

Also, today's recommended quote is a personal favorite of mine. _Never Alone, Never Again_, by Bored Beyond Belief holds its position as one of my top five favorite fics of all time, and I'll be hard-pressed to find a fic that can topple it. It truly is a must-read.

Many thanks for reading, and I'll see you next chapter! As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	11. The Ritual

**Author's Note: **And here we are chapter Chapter Eleven. This chapter is rather shorter than my usual posts, mostly because the information you will learn herein will remain important throughout the entirety of this fic and its sequel, though the manner in which this is so and which particular bits of information, I will not reveal until the time comes to do so. Because it amuses me so.

Extreme amounts of thanks to my beta, Elenaiel, who got this chapter back to me in record time.

I look forward to your comments and reviews. Enjoy the fic and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XI**

**The Ritual**

* * *

The face staring back at him wasn't the one that he knew. The pallor of his skin was still as pale as it always had been, but now four rose-colored scars stretched across the left side of his face, from the peak of his forehead to under his ear. His iris had filmed over, until his eye was almost completely white.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back from his forehead and sighing when they flopped limply back into place, as unattractive as the rest of him. Glaring back into his one good eye, Draco briefly entertained the idea of punching the mirror and shattering it. It would be a defiance against the ideals his father had raised him to believe – control of emotional displays, basic propriety. Draco could throw a raging fit, destroy everything he could see by throwing or crushing it, and his father would never be able to stop him. He would never be able to hit him with another spell or say another vicious word in his presence.

And his mother would never be there to comfort him after his father's cruelty.

Draco felt the hot liquid of his tears rolling down his cheeks, even as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He bet it would hurt a lot, punching the mirror. The glass would shatter on impact – probably not all of it, but a good portion of where his fist would strike. He would cut his hand, and shards of glass would be imbedded in his flesh. It would hurt, but at least he would feel something other than this chasm within his chest where had once dwelled the need for his father's approval, and the love he'd held for his mother. At least the pain would be received by his own actions, and not handed to him by someone who felt he deserved it. He wanted to feel something because _he_ willed it to be so, not because it was dealt him. And it would be so easy…

"That would cause a great deal more of a mess than I care to bother cleaning up at the moment."

Draco started, spinning to face the entrance to the bathroom. He hadn't heard the door open, but his godfather stood there, leaning leisurely against the threshold and watching Draco with dark eyes.

He could ask Severus what he was talking about, play the fool and attempt to avoid any unpleasantness from what was likely to be a very trying conversation, but Draco had never been the type to play dumb. Often, his arrogance led to foolish actions, but the unsavory results were never what he had originally intended. Still, he couldn't bring himself to pretend not to know what his godfather meant.

Draco glanced back at the mirror and into his own warped image, before lowering his head. It had been an hour, at least, since he had seen his godfather – an hour spent hiding in the bathroom and from the man who had made him an offer he didn't want to refuse… an offer he couldn't take when it was given out of pity. To a hideous, scarred young boy. To a child with nowhere else to go. To an orphan.

Closing his eyes sent fresh tears washing down his cheeks and he turned away to try and keep Severus from seeing. It was a futile move, as the man had clearly already seen the evidence of Draco's weakness, but he attempted to save face nonetheless. He was already repulsive – no need to so easily reveal how pathetic he was.

Severus moved with a silent grace, gliding across the floor like an airborne predator. In a moment, he had moved from the doorway to in front of Draco, long, slender fingers cupping the pale boy's chin. Draco twitched involuntarily at the unexpected action, and he felt the grip Severus had on his face loosen until it was nothing more than a gentle dusting of his fingertips, tilting Draco's head back until he was forced to peer into his godfather's dark eyes.

Severus' other hand came up and he brushed away a tear as it slid down Draco's face. For a moment, both of them were silent; Draco peering into his godfather's dark eyes, and Severus staring at something far away. After a time, however, the Potions Master met his godson's grey eyes as he spoke.

"Your mother would show no mercy in the face of these tears, Draco." The boy tried to lower his face, ashamed, but Severus tightened his grip and refused him the action. "Narcissa was not a fighter. In school, she never did well with spells that benefited one in battle or conflict. Her area of expertise lay in the care of simple things – Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology. She could stay a wild gryphon with a look, and the most stubborn of plants would bloom vividly under her hand. She cared for others, Draco, and in that laid her strength."

Draco sniffled sadly, glancing to the left and away from the gaze that locked to his. Severus gave the boy's head a little shake, and Draco obediently returned his gaze to his godfather's eyes, tears still slipping down his cheeks. Gently, Severus soothed him as he continued to speak.

"Narcissa would never have defied Lucius for herself. He would have beaten her until she could not breathe on her own and have summoned someone to heal her, but she would never move to defend herself. I don't think she cared enough about what happened to her to bother with such a trivial attempt. Under Lucius' eye, it would no doubt have failed. He would have killed her eventually, but it wouldn't have been anything for her to be concerned about. It was _you_ that made her feel concern, to have a reason to live. You gave her a reason to fight, Draco. She would rage against these tears, because she was an enemy of anything that dared to cause you pain. Even her husband.

Severus released Draco's chin and lay a long-fingered hand on his shoulder, still locking eyes with the boy. "So I do not wish for you to think that you are worthless. You are the son of your mother, who loved you dearly. That, if nothing else, makes you important.

"You are the heir to the Malfoy Family, and there is nothing that Lucius can do to stop that now. And you are my godson, Draco… and very important to me."

Draco could feel the tears rolling uninhibited down his face, but he didn't look away from Severus' eyes or try to wipe them away. He was drawn to the sincere tone of the man's voice, and how uncharacteristic it was for him to reveal so much of himself in words, to anyone.

"I _do_ want you, Draco," Severus said, and his tone had grown softer, "as a member of my family. As an heir to my line. As a _son_, Draco, as you always have been, even when your father lay claim to you. I don't want you to think that my actions are done out of pity. I do not prescribe to pity. I love you, Draco, as a father loves a son, and I want you to find a home here, amongst the rest of my family, with no worries that we will ever betray you." He squeezed the boy's shoulder lightly. "I promise you that we won't."

Draco nodded softly. "I know that, godfather."

"Do you?" Severus asked carefully. "So you _truly_ understand that, Draco?"

"I…" Draco hesitated under the power of those sharp eyes. For a moment, he faltered in his reply and thought about it. "I am… beginning to learn, godfather."

Severus offered the boy a small smile. "Then allow me to teach you."

In the teaching of magic in schools, students are taught what a spell is capable of doing. Through this manner, they learn not only what a spell _can_ do, but by exclusion, what it _can't_.

This, however, is a lie.

Magic has no limits. Magic is everything.

Before mankind existed, before animals roamed the earth, before the planets drifted in the galaxy, and before the galaxy had a form, there was _magic_.

Older than all things, purer than all things, and the creator of all things, magic came first. It wasn't created or born, wasn't good or evil, wasn't light or dark – it simply _was_.

A muggle professor would explain to his students that all life follows numbers. The Fibonacci Sequence can be found throughout life, equations can describe processes of evolution and ecological functions, and three sets of three sets of threes can be found circling people's lives, waiting to be noticed.

A witch professor would explain to her students that spells are created through complex equations that magic forms itself around, as though magic itself is drawn to the patterns that sets of numbers and formulas create.

What neither of them will tell their students is that magic came before math, and is not the magic that is drawn to the mathematics, but the mathematics that are created by human minds – magic or muggle – to explain the use of spells and the processes of life in turn. What both of these types of people fail to admit to, out of fear or ignorance, is that muggles do not know everything there is to known about life, and wizards do not know how far magic can truly go. They may theorize all they wish, and they will continue to adjust their equations and add in new sequences as they learn new things, but there is so much that they _don't know_.

In the same way as witches do not know all there is to know about the ends of magic, if ends exist at all, there are some spells that little to nothing is known about. Rituals, which came before spells, that are as old as mankind itself, perhaps older. Their functions have been revealed over time, their purpose discovered, but not the means by which they work, or how or when they were created, or by whom – if indeed there was a _whom_.

The Godfather Bond is one such ritual.

No one knows what culture it started in. For as long as witches and wizards have been known to exist, this ritual has existed.

The bond between parent and child is sacred. It is the seed of a man which creates a child, and a woman carries her young long before it tastes fresh air and is welcomed into the corporeal world. A parent who fails by their own action to properly care for a child – or worse, who willingly brings them harm – performs a sacrilegious act that defies the very existence of magic. The recompense for this act is two-fold, as the parents of a child are two-fold. On one side, there stands the mother, who cares and protects – and so the magic will care for and protect the child. One the other side, there stands the father, who fights and defends – and so the magic will fight and take action to defend.

The Godfather Bond is a form of this.

As parents are able to name a secondary guardian for their child, to be certain that he or she is cared for upon their fall, the Godfather Bond upholds this when the ritual is performed. It bonds a child with his guardian, so that the child becomes the guardian's charge. This is recognized by magic, written in the oldest tongue of the world, to be recognized by all, and defied by none.

It was the Godfather Bond that Severus and Draco were preparing to perform.

The ritual allowed for only the two of them to be present, as any other presence would draw the third party into the ritual, as well. In ancient times, the rituals were completed in sacred areas, so that no two rituals were completed at the same time, to assure no interference between the magics. In modern times, the ancient rituals have long since gone out of service but for those few who held to the old ways, so there was little worry.

After dinner, once Elena and Conan had gone to bed, Severus and Draco made their way into the basement of Severus' home. One half of the basement had been made into a Potions laboratory, but the second part, secluded and enclosed, was a perfect square, completely bare but for the magic circle that had been carved into the stone centuries before.

Severus stood on one side of the circle, as Draco took his position opposite him. The boy gasped softly, as the three outer circles lit up crimson as they both stood steady. The inch-deep carved lines filled with scarlet light that rippled like liquid and could very well have been blood, but neither Draco nor Severus dared to reach down and touch it to see. Both stood perfectly still, across from each other, as the circle came to life, beginning to light up around them.

The three outer rings were scarlet, but the designs inside of the circle lit up blue, green, golden, and white respectively, as the thin line that connected the four designs began to ripple and slither like a serpent, and turn black.

"Verus…" Draco whispered uncertainly, as it appeared that the serpent-like line was getting closer to him.

"It's all right, Draco," Severus said, his voice still retaining his usual calm, despite his own awe and fear at the workings of the circle.

The snake-like circle continued to ripple until it had slithered over to surround Draco's feet, still somehow connecting the four designs. Once it touched Draco and lingered a moment, it painstakingly slithered over to surround Severus' feet for a time. Eventually, it rippled its way back into the center of the circle, and both its line and the interior of its form began to glow black, until a great hole had been ripped open in the magic circle that led… somewhere else.

All motion around them stopped, the light halted its glimmering though the color remained, and everything around them was quiet.

Until a voice, like a song, spoke from beyond the shadow of the hole.

"_**You, Severus Tobias Snape, have summoned me to bind you henceforth to the shadow that is your godson. You wish him taken from where he is and given anew to your blood, as your son, your heir, and your brethren. You ask this of us willingly, and will take it as we give it, eternally?" **_

"Yes."

"_**Speak to that which you agree to, Severus Tobias Snape." **_

"I have summoned you to bind me now and until eternity to my godson, who I will take as my blood, my son, my heir, and my brethren. I ask this of you willingly and will take it forever as it is given."

"_**Well spoken, you who bear the mark of Godfather."**_

The air above the hole in the circle shimmered, until a symbol appeared, glowing red. For a moment, it merely lingered there, an image like an inverted V. Then, it moved slowly over to where Severus stood, stopping mere centimeters before Severus' forehead for only a moment, before pressing against the skin.

The red hot symbol hissed as it touched his flesh, sizzling as it branded the skin of his forehead. Severus screamed as the symbol burned into him, but the magic of the ritual held him in place so he could not flee the circle. After a moment, the pain stopped and so did his screams, until all was silent.

His heavy breaths took over then, as he hung his head, his eyes closed and face dripping with sweat.

Draco quivered for a moment, as the voice sang again.

"_**You, Draco Urien Malfoy, have summoned me to bind you henceforth to the shadow that is your godfather. You wish yourself removed from where you are and placed anew in his blood, to become his son, his heir, and his brethren. You ask this of us willingly, and will take it as we give it, eternally?"**_

Draco hesitated only long enough to draw a deep breath.

"I have summoned you to bind me henceforth to my godfather, to become his blood, his son, his heir, and his brethren. I ask this of you willingly and I will take it as you give it, for all of eternity."

"_**Well spoken, you who bear the mark of Godson." **_

As before, the air above the hole rippled until a symbol appeared, this time a small triangle, outlined in black, but grey in the middle. It floated over to where Draco stood, and pressed itself firmly against his forehead.

It was worse than the Cruciatus.

Draco could not help but scream. The agony tore out of him through his throat, and he could feel the sound cutting him raw, dragging harshly across the interior of his esophagus. The symbol touched his forehead like a cattle brand, hot as fire and sizzling as it pressed against flesh.

The pain didn't stop there, however, but lanced through his body – heat enough to boil his skin, as though he were burning alive. Every pore in his flesh where sprouted a hair felt as though needles were being driven out of them, and his eyes felt as though someone were trying to dig them out with splintery spoons. The blood in his veins felt like both acid and lightning at once, raging through him, burning him from the inside out, and as wild as the magic they attempted to tame. Every beat of his heart pounded heavily in his chest, intensifying the agony, until he didn't think he could take anymore, didn't think he could survive anymore.

And the pain came to a climax, shooting from every vein and pore and flake of skin. Draco screamed as the magic flowed back through his body to slam into his chest, at the throbbing center of his body, agony doubling and tripling over itself as it dug in deep enough to pierce his soul.

And he choked to a halt in his screaming, as his heart stopped.

* * *

Somewhere, miles and miles away, another ritual was being performed. The boy who stood in the same position as Draco drew a gasping breath and then another, as his head dropped, sweat dripping down his face. He shuddered, his eyes closed, tears rolling down his cheeks, as the small triangle symbol in his forehead glowed for a moment, and then faded from sight.

The hole in the center of the circle began to close slowly, as a voice whispered from the deep.

"_**It is done."**_

* * *

**I especially liked Ron's and Hermione's letters - those two are true friends of Harry's! **

They were some of my favorite parts of the chapter, as well, and I'm really glad other people enjoyed them. Hermione and Ron's loyalty to Harry as a friend will become quite apparent in the future - perhaps not far from now. :D

**I know that you have listed in chapter one that the pairing is going to be harry/ginny but is this going to be a proper relationship pairing or simply close friendship?**

The pairings that I have listed on my profile (more reliable than chapter one's listing, to be honest) are romantic pairings. I rarely list friendship pairings, frankly, because the list would be enormous. Friendship means a great deal to me and, as such, plays a poignant role in my fanfiction. For the sake of clarification, however:

**Romantic Pairings**

Sirius/Remus  
Ginny/Harry  
Ron/Hermione

Note that there are some other pairings that I will be playing with, including some one-sided pairings that will not last, as I have yet to meet a person who married and lived happily ever after with the first person they had a crush on. As for friendships, as I said, the list would be too extensive to write in its entirety, but some friendship pairings of note are Harry/Hermione/Ron, Harry/Draco, Ron/Draco, Harry/Sirius. I'm sure you'll see a lot of combinations opening up here pretty soon, some growing relationships between family members and otherwise. I hope that helps, in any case.

**Might there now or soon be a magical treatment for Harry's aid?**

Had there been, they would have gladly given it to him. However, considering that they aren't entirely sure the _cause_ of his deafness (which coincides with muteness), it is not truly possible for them to come up with a cure.

**Harry should be able to get a CO-qu-l-er inplant. Those do work with the deaf.**

It's "cochlear implants," just for reference, and in case anyone else wants to look them up. And yes, I know they do generally work to help people who are profoundly deaf. However, you must also recall that Harry is a wizard now thoroughly immersed in the Wizarding World, where people look upon muggles and the barbaric medical applications as being savage and primitive. Can you imagine Madame Pomfrey allow anyone to cut open one of her patient's heads in the Infirmary? She'd never permit such a barbaric display of unintelligent attempts at medical practice. I may touch on the idea of surgery in upcoming points of the fic, but I daresay that Molly Weasley would have a thing or two to say to anyone who suggested such a thing - if you'll recall, her reaction to the use of stitches for Arthur's snake bite in the fifth book were quite a lovely example of the Wizarding World's distrust of muggle technology.

I'm not going to make a magical equivalent to the cochlear implants or hearing aids, or otherwise, either, though I do appreciate people's suggesting ideas for me. I have some plans for Harry's loss of hearing and his muteness, though I'm pleased that people are so concerned about him. You'll see some of my reasons for last chapter's suggestion for reading Poe soon, I promise.

**You had to go and name the guy Newton Figg and make me laugh.**

To be honest, I didn't even realize that I basically named the guy after a cookie. A good friend and fellow-writer, Jai-kun, gave me the name when I asked for a suggestion. I kept thinking of Sir Isaac Newton. :D I suppose I wasn't so hungry when writing that chapter. :P

Thank you all very much for your reviews, comments, and suggestions. Today's recommended fic is _Dear Order_, by SilverWolf7007, which I have read multiple times, because it makes me laugh. :D And I enjoy the author's take on some of the characters, particularly Luna.

I look forward to your comments and reviews, and I'm interested to see what people think of this chapter in particular. Have a lovely Monday and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	12. The Crooked House

**Author's Note: **This chapter, however, is dedicated to **ElfIcarii**, who is my 100th reviewer.

Much thanks goes out to Elenaiel, my incredibly amazing beta, who still puts up with me even though it also means she has to put up with crappy computers. I love you for your determination, Elenaiel, and for the lovely red ink with which you mark up my chapters.

I claim no ownership of _Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Twilight Saga, Treasure Island_, or the nursery rhyme after which this chapter is named. I have merely borrowed a few notes, a few characters, and made a few references at our monthly tea party. Do join us, won't you?

As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. _**  
**

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XII**

**The Crooked House**

* * *

_There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile,  
He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.  
He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse.  
And they all lived together in a little crooked house._

- unknown

* * *

"Order up!"

The hours between eight and ten o'clock in the morning were always the busiest for The Crooked House. Muggles from the area would rise early and stop in for breakfast, swarming through the door like cattle, scurrying for a table.

Minerva McGonagall, however, did _not_ scurry, and she was most certainly not a cow, or a Muggle, for that matter. She pushed open the door to The Crooked House, smiling in amusement at the bell that jingled upon her entry, and made her way over to a small table in the corner of the room. It was out of sight of a lot of the Muggles, but allowed her full view of the restaurant. And as anyone who knew Minerva was well aware, she enjoyed watching people.

Sitting down at the table with a smile, she didn't have to wait long for Jacob to come over to her table with a smile on his face and a menu in his hand. He held it out to her with a knowing look. "I don't suppose you'll be needing this today, ma'am?"

Minerva smiled gently at the waiter. He had been the one to serve her each day that she came to The Crooked House, always with a smile and a friendly demeanor. She had grown accustomed to his shoulder-length black hair, tied back in a tight knot at the base of his neck, his tanned skin, and his kind, dark eyes. He was quite an attractive young man – something she had seen more than a few teenaged girls act upon while ordering their meals. Jacob was always polite when gently letting them down, however. For whatever reason, it seemed to amuse him to direct their attention to his co-worker, Jack.

Jack was equally as attractive as Jacob. His wild, dark blonde hair was tossed all over the place as though he had been sitting on a broomstick and spinning in circles as fast as he was able. Of course, that wouldn't make any sense, since The Crooked House was a muggle restaurant that Minerva just happened to enjoy visiting. Jack's skin was also tanned, though from the sun, unlike Jacob's natural complexion, and his lime green eyes always seemed to hold a spark of mischief within them. Whenever one of the young women Jacob had let down would turn their sights on him, Jack would offer a grin that would have them all swooning, but he never acted on it. He simply checked them out at the register (in more ways than one, he would say), and cleaned up the tables after the customers left.

The only employee that was rarely ever seen (but often heard) by the patrons was the cook. Jim was Jacob's younger brother. What Minerva had seen of the boy revealed tan skin, wind-swept brown hair, and brown eyes. He had been wearing a large set of headphones when Minerva had seen him, the music blaring from them so loudly that she could hear it across the room. He had been coming out to ask his brother a question at the time about an order. Jacob had taken a look at the order slip and rewrote what he had originally written upon it, and Jim had quickly went back into the kitchens to continue making breakfast for everyone.

Minerva smiled. The three of them were interesting, and she rather enjoyed her weekly visit to The Crooked House.

"No, Jacob, thank you," she said, and watched the amusement rise in his dark eyes. "I'll take the same as usual."

"Two eggs over-easy, toast with jam, a slice of peach cobbler, and chamomile tea with lemon. It will be out in but a moment, ma'am."

"Thank you, Jacob," Minerva said, as he retreated to the kitchens to hand the order over to Jim, before bringing out her tea.

It was interesting to watch the muggles who came in, talking to Jacob and Jack in a friendly manner, never knowing that there was more to them than there appeared.

Minerva could think on Jacob as an attractive young man with a friendly smile, Jack as a laugh-loving flirt, and Jim as a quiet, music-loving young man who tended to hide from attention, but she knew better. Those initial thoughts were for the benefit of people like Albus Dumbledore, who occasionally liked to use their knowledge and practice of Legilimency to read other people's thoughts. Minerva couldn't block the Headmaster from her thoughts completely like Severus was able, but she could certainly misdirect him.

She knew who Jacob, Jack, and Jim really were, and she was still wholly amused by their choice of names.

"_Why Jim, though? Isn't that a little risky?"_

_The dark-eyed man had glanced at his blonde companion, both chuckling in amusement. "Jim Hawkins, actually. Haven't you ever read _Treasure Island_?"_

"_Not for many years," Minerva admitted. _

"_He acts a bit like him, doesn't he?" Jacob asked. "It's almost stunning, how much he has in common with a fictional character."_

"_Wouldn't the muggles catch on faster? After all, Meyers did write her books for muggles despite being a witch, but the other two are rather popular among this crowd." _

"_That's true," the blonde admitted, "but to be honest, I'm pretty sure the muggles recognize the references." He jerked a thumb in his companion's direction. "Current popularity as it is, they recognize Fluffy over here quicker than the rest of us. I think they believe it's something of a game, and we're of a mind to just let them continue to think that. It's not doing anyone any harm."_

"_Even the name of the restaurant can be attributed to muggle culture," Jacob admitted. "A nursery rhyme not many adults may remember, but still." His smile was amused and a little teasing. "We're still debating on which of us is the crooked man who lives in the crooked house." _

"_Harry refuses to take sides."_

Minerva glanced up, feeling someone watching her, and saw Jim standing next to Jack at the register. He grinned at her and waved, and she waved back with a smile. Yes, she was well aware that _Jim Hawkins_ was actually Harry Potter in disguise, just as _Captain Jack Sparrow_ was Sirius Black, his godfather, and _Jacob Black_ was Remus Lupin, a dear friend of her and the others, both. She was well-aware, and she was keeping it a close secret. The only other creature who happened to know was a phoenix by the name of Fawkes, and he had already decided to refuse to tell Albus Dumbledore anything.

_The stubbornness of a phoenix is altogether cat-like,_ Minerva mused, and sipped her tea.

When Jacob brought her meal, she smiled and ate it quietly, as other patrons came and went. When she was finished, she ordered more tea and sat in her seat, watching people come and go, young women flirt and get let down. She couldn't help but be utterly proud of her three students, for though two had graduated Hogwarts years before, they would always be her students, as far as she was concerned.

At two o'clock, the last of the patrons left with smiles, full bellies, and pleasant farewells, and Jack locked the doors behind them. Pulling down the blinds over the windows and doors and then performing a spell to shield the images within from magical detection, Sirius Black waved his wand and transfigured himself back into his normal form.

Long black hair fell in smooth waves down to between his shoulder blades. Sirius had it tied back with a black ribbon. He wore the black slacks and apron, and white shirt that made up his uniform even under the illusion spell. He grinned over at Minerva as she stood, smiling.

"Minnie! You've come to visit again! That's the seventh Monday in a row. I know you love me, but you're making Harry and Remus jealous."

Minerva rolled her eyes at Sirius' antics, because it was expected that she roll her eyes and not burst into laughter like she dearly wanted to. She acted as though she was insulted that he would think to grasp her hand and twirl her around, grinning at her face, but she couldn't keep the smile off of her lips.

"Hello, Sirius."

"Ah, and she remembers my name!" He wiped away an imaginary tear. "I told Remy – your heart would be mine one day." He flashed her the flirtatious grin that everyday caused a new teenage girl to swoon, but Minerva merely scowled, her lips thin.

"That'll be enough of that, young man. I'll not be treated like some love-sick fifteen year old."

Sirius released a put-upon sigh, placing a hand over his heart and sitting down on a booth seat. "Rejected again. My heart shan't survive it this time."

Remus came out of the kitchens with a smirk on his face and Harry at his side. "Honestly, Padfoot, you'd think you'd learn."

"The heart wants what the heart wants, Moony." Sirius gave his friend a lovesick expression. Remus rolled his eyes and swatted Sirius on the back of the head.

"Move over, Pads."

Minerva smiled sadly as Sirius moved over, frowning softly when his face was out of Remus' view. She'd known the two for the seven years they had attended Hogwarts, and then years afterward in the Order, and now she was getting to know them even better. She knew how Sirius felt about Remus, and it broke her heart a little each time she saw him try to hint at his feelings, and the werewolf just not catch on. But she wouldn't say anything. It wasn't her place, and Remus needed to figure out Sirius' emotions on his own. For both their sakes, she hoped he did it soon.

Sliding over in her own seat, Minerva smiled as Harry sat down next to her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, eliciting a grin from the silent boy.

She had worried when the three disappeared how Harry would get along being unable to speak or hear, but she hadn't needed to. Spending time with Remus and Sirius had done wonders for the soon-to-be-fifteen-year-old. He smiled more during Minerva's weekly visits than she had seen him do during an entire school year. It was revealing, but it also pleased her greatly that her two students had been so able to help him.

"How have things been?"

Remus chuckled. "Busy," he admitted, and Minerva knew he didn't just mean The Crooked House. "We've been working on teaching Harry how to read lips." Remus was facing the younger boy as he spoke. "He's been doing quite well, and I know it's not an easy trick to learn." Minerva saw Harry's grin grow at the praise, and was pleased.

"Sign Language is proving to be a little difficult, but to be honest, I had a good deal of trouble learning it, myself. It took me a few years and I still have some problems, and we've only been practicing a little over a month. We've got the alphabet down, and finger-spelling. For the moment, I think that's going to be the most useful. We're more interested in making sure Harry isn't seen by others as being limited. I know once he returns to school, some people would quickly take advantage if that appeared to be the case."

Minerva nodded and then, thoughtfully, "So Harry _is_ returning to school?" She gave the young man beside her a sideways glance.

"Of course," Remus said, smiling and ignoring Sirius' grumble. "We've talked about it and we are well-aware of the problems that might arise, but Harry had his own comments to make. Ultimately, regardless of what we think, it _is_ his choice. And…" Remus nodded, a somewhat sad smile on his face. "I can understand that he wishes to return to school and see his friends. Were I in the same position, that would have been my choice, as well."

"Mine, too," Sirius admitted, "though I don't like the fact that I can't go with him."

Minerva smiled gently. "I can understand that quite well, but I can assure you that I will be keeping a close eye on Harry during the school year." She turned to the young boy sitting next to her, who was squinting his eyes and clearly trying to read what she was saying from the side. "I want you to know, you can come to me if you ever need something, Harry. No matter what."

She watched as the boy's mouth moved in the same manner as hers had, eyes still squinted, before brightening. He grinned and nodded, and then made a motion with his hand, touching the tips of his index and middle fingers to his chin and pulling it away gently. Minerva frowned in confusion.

"It means 'thank you,'" Remus supplied helpfully.

"You're very welcome, Harry."

* * *

"Have you given any thought to coming back early?"

Minerva and Jacob were walking together from the restaurant to the nearby bus stop. Harry and Sirius were back at The Crooked House – specifically in the apartment hidden underground, where they had been living these past two months.

"I've talked to Sirius about it, but you've heard him already. He'd rather keep Harry with him from here on out." Remus sighed. "It makes talking to him difficult. He's afraid, you know."

"Yes, I can understand that. Things haven't been easy for any of you."

They walked in silence for a time, lost in their own thoughts and enjoying the company of the other. Since the first time that Minerva had visited, Remus (in the guise of Jacob) would walk her to the bus stop some blocks away, where she would call the Knight Bus to pick her up once all of the muggles were gone.

Hesitantly, Minerva said, "He wanted me to deliver a message to you." She felt Remus stiffen beside her, but he said nothing. "An apology."

"From the Headmaster?"

She nodded without looking at him. "Yes."

The silence returned, but didn't last as long. "May I ask you a question, Minerva?"

"You may."

"Do you trust him? I mean – really trust him."

_What an oddly difficult question. _"I trust Albus Dumbledore to do what he thinks is right," she admitted, and glanced over at Remus' pensive expression. "Whether or not that ends up being what he _should_ have done is always a question for hindsight. I do know, Remus, that Albus is not a cruel man by nature, and that he truly does care for Harry. He does not want to do him any harm. However, I also think that he remains blind to some aspects of the situation."

"He wants to see the good in people."

"He always has tried to find it, and while I agree with him in that everyone has some light to them, I also know that people can ignore that part of themselves as easily as others ignore the dark."

"He's hoping we'll come back, isn't he?"

"People have been looking for the three of you for over a month. It took him that long to realize that if you don't want to be found, with Sirius on your side, you won't be. He's worried about you, though, even knowing that I've been in contact with you, as well as Fawkes. I'm sure if I had allowed him to write a letter for me to bring to you, it would have also contained an attempt to convince you to come back."

"As well as a tracking spell to locate where we are."

"No doubt," Minerva admitted, smiling. "Which is why I told him I would deliver his message verbally. It's merely an apology, and a promise that should you have questions about what has occurred in Harry's past, he is willing to answer them."

Remus nodded. "We may have some, on Harry's behalf."

Minerva glanced at him. "He's told you what happened, then?"

"As much as he knows. There are things that Harry has been confused about for years, which the Headmaster has failed to reveal to him, no doubt as a means to protect him. The problem is that, for whatever reason, Voldemort seems intent on coming after Harry, and he cannot fight something if he does not know it."

Minerva flinched lightly at the dark lord's name, though between Sirius, Remus, and Albus, she was becoming increasingly used to hearing it. That wasn't something she was particularly happy about.

"Well, he has made the offer, and Harry has a right to know, as many things as he's faced in the past. Especially last year…" She shook her head lightly. "How's he taking that?"

"He's been getting better. He still has nightmares now and then, but things were a great deal worse at the beginning. I know it's not something that he's going to get over right away, and I think he understands that, as well. I'm just glad we're helping."

"The two of you are good for him. I can see how much better he's doing, having been with you. Frankly, if you choose to stay in hiding until September first, I'll understand completely. I'm not here to convince you either way. I enjoy being able to check on all three of you, and I'll do whatever I can to help." She smiled in amusement. "It's also nice to see that you both took something from my class. Your appearances were wonderfully transfigured."

"I'll pass the praise along."

The two of them came to a halt at the bus stop, watching as the muggles loaded up into the waiting vehicle. Minerva turned to Remus as the driver took off, knowing by now that she never took his ferry.

"If you do decide to come back early, let me know beforehand. There are a few people who aren't particular pleased with you right now."

"Molly and Arthur. Yes, we heard." At Minerva's surprised look, Remus smiled. "Hermione Granger truly is the brightest witch of her age. Apparently, she and the Weasleys have taken up residence at Headquarters?"

Minerva nodded, a glimmer is curiosity in her eyes. "Earlier this month."

"She sent us a letter via Fawkes, telling us what she, Ron, and Miss Weasley were able to gather about the attempts to find us. Molly and Arthur are apparently displeased with both Sirius and myself, as well as Ron?"

"Yes, he… spoke his mind to his parents, it seems. I daresay that young man needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut."

"Subtle, Ron is not, I've learned," Remus said quietly, "but loyal – very loyal. I do know that Harry wishes to see them quite badly, so it's entirely possible we will be returning soon – within a few weeks. I will let you know, whatever our decision."

"I appreciate that. I'll see you next week."

Remus nodded. "Good-bye, Minerva." The Transfiguration professor raised her wand, summoning the Knight Bus in a **BANG!**, as Remus Lupin turned and headed back to The Crooked House, to have yet another discussion with Sirius on how keeping Harry prisoner in the apartment for the rest of his life was not ideal.

* * *

_Make use of all of your senses, not matter your talent. You use your eyes naturally – you're a human. You cannot hear, so use your sense of smell. What do I smell like, Harry? Now, find me._

The room was completely dark except for the golden words that floated before his eyes, glowing. It was one of the ways that Sirius and Remus had been using to communicate with him. He couldn't hear them speak, and when Sirius was trying to train him, it didn't make much sense for him to stand there and try to read Sirius' lips when he should have been focusing on something else. So Sirius would write what he wanted Harry to know on golden lettering in the air. Harry would read it, and then wave it away with his wand.

Then, the fun began.

Finding Sirius was a game that Harry's godfather seemed to enjoy just a little too much. He put a disturbing amount of effort into hiding, and then would wait – sometimes for _hours_ – until Harry was able to come and find him. Admittedly, though, Harry was not only getting better at finding his godfather during these games, but he was also becoming more observant because of it.

_That's been moved,_ Harry thought, looking at the blanket on the back of the couch. One of the corners had been flipped back, as though someone had brushed by it quickly. Harry moved past the couch, his eyes – back to green now that the transfiguration had been removed – scanning the room for more clues as to where to find his godfather.

Over the past two months spent with Sirius and Remus, the three of them had done a lot. The first thing they had done, of course, had been finding a place where they could stay, without worrying about being found. Sirius and Remus had quickly figured something out, and had explained the history of said idea to Harry in detail.

The Crooked House was not their idea. The restaurant had been a cover long before they were born, built by Harry's great grandparents, on his father's side. During the war with Grindewald, a lot of people had gone into hiding for safety, but some people had gone into hiding and then aided in the war from that location. It had been the idea of James' grandparents to disguise themselves as muggles and open a restaurant in a muggle neighborhood.

A spell was used upon the restaurant that when it was activated, the restaurant appeared to be open and people would simply think that it had always been there. They would go if they wished to, and if they didn't, they wouldn't. When the spell was deactivated, the restaurant would simply appear to be closed and, regardless of the time of day, that wouldn't seem odd to anyone – even if the restaurant sat closed for a hundred years, as it had before the three of them had reactivated the spell.

There were living quarters as a large apartment underneath the restaurant. The entrance to the apartment, however, had been crafted in Wizard Space, so that muggles were not only unable to see it, but unable to enter it unless pulled in by a witch or wizard. The entrance was, amusingly enough, in the oven, and sealed by a password. The knowledge of The Crooked House, as well as the password, had been passed down through James' family. He had shared the information with Sirius and Remus one summer when the three had been hanging out, and when Sirius had run away from home when he was younger, before he went to live with James' family, he had found the Crooked House and hid in the underground apartment.

Learning about this piece of his family history had been a wonderful surprise, and Harry was grateful that Sirius and Remus had remembered it and chosen to use it. After making their way to The Crooked House, they had made sure everything they needed was there, before taking a week to simply relax.

Although Harry had been healed by Madam Pomfrey's magic (Remus and Sirius still hadn't revealed all of the details to him), he had still felt tired, and the inability to hear was disorienting. Harry spent the majority of that first week sleeping, waking up from nightmares, eating meals with Remus and Sirius, and growing accustomed to his new disabilities. The second week had been spent throwing a raging fit about his new disabilities.

It was only during the third week, when Harry was trying to think of a pseudonym and appearance to be disguised under, that Remus had informed Harry of his intentions to teach him how to read lips, and at least the basics of Sign Language.

It had been calming to Harry, who hadn't seen how he would be able to function without being able to hear or speak. How was he supposed to cast spells if he couldn't say the incantations? He hadn't realized that casting didn't require the actual incantation or even words, until Remus had told him so.

Since then, the three of them had come up with a routine. They would get up at five o'clock in the morning, dress in their uniforms and then disguise themselves as Jim, Jacob, and Jack, respectively. They would open The Crooked House, and once people would start filtering in, Remus would take their orders, Sirius would check them out and clear up tables, and Harry would sit in the kitchens and peer through a wall that was transparent on his side, and try to read the lips of the people that Remus was talking to.

When Remus came back to "give Jim his order," he would check what Harry had seen people speak, correct him if necessary, and then leave the order to be made by the cooking spells that were constantly in motion in the kitchen. Harry had never heard it, of course, but apparently there was a spell that would call out "Order up!" every time one of the order tickets had been fulfilled.

At two o'clock, after the lunch rush was over, they would close The Crooked House, and all of the patrons would leave as the spell deactivated. On Mondays, they would spend a few hours visiting with Professor McGonagall, and when she left, Remus would walk her to the bus stop, and Sirius and Harry would go down into the apartment and play Finding Sirius.

Any other day, the three of them would eat a late lunch, and then they would practice casting without speaking. Harry was surprised to learn that, so long as he knew the actual purpose and function of the spell in question, he could actually cast it easier _without_ saying anything than if he did so while worrying about saying the incantation correctly, as well. Remus told him that this was actually something that a lot of people had trouble with, because they were unable to see how unnecessary the words were. Harry wasn't sure he actually believed him, but for him, the wordless casting was easy. Over time, these lessons in casting varied between practice duels and learning new spells, depending on how the day was going.

Afterward, the three of them would have dinner, and then Harry would work on his summer homework. He was nearly done with all of it – having Sirius and Remus around was a great deal of help, as between the two of them, he had a tutor in almost every subject at Hogwarts. Once his homework was completed, they did whatever they wanted for the rest of the night, sometimes playing Chess or Exploding Snap, reading a book, or just laying down and relaxing.

It was a lot of work, that was true, but Harry didn't really mind. He enjoyed spending time with Remus and Sirius, even if they _were_ in hiding. He'd never had a summer that was so wonderful, and part of him hoped that it would never end. Another part, though, missed his friends terribly, and knew that it would soon be time to return to school. He worried a little about how that would go. Would his friends be okay with the fact that he couldn't hear them or couldn't speak, or would they not want to hang out with him anymore? They wouldn't be mad at him for leaving, would they?

The curtain around the window was hanging differently than it had been earlier, and since the windows were only spelled to show an outdoor view, none of them had been opened. Smiling, Harry threw the cloth aside and pointed his wand at a large black dog hunkered low to the ground.

The dog's ears pricked and his tongue lolled out of his mouth in a gesture Harry had quickly determined meant _Good job_. He grinned.

* * *

**Quite brilliantly done, and in character, though it brings a hint of demonology into the mix that is well out of my comfort zone.**

Do not be so quick to assume. :) Looks, after all, rarely define anything completely - most especially in a world of magic.

**What does this mean for Conan, of Draco is now an heir to Severus?**

That will come to light later.

**ElfIcarii: **GET OUT OF MY HEAD! ;) You're curiosity is "altogether cat-like." And as to your guesses - we shall see.

Today's fic-recommendation is _Completely Incomplete_, by Leigh A. Sumpter - a Marauder-era fic which I enjoyed reading some years back, and which I hope you will, too.

Many thanks to all who read, reviewed, and those _many_ of you who have been adding this story to your favorites list. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I look forward to your input. Until next chapter, dear readers, I bid you a Happy belated-Summer Solstice and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	13. The Artifacts

**Author's Note: **Supreme and superb amounts of thanks to my beta, Elenaiel, who returned this chapter to me as swiftly as Quicksilver rides.

I am posting this chapter in honor of July 4th, so to all of you who celebrate it or at least enjoy the fireworks, Happy Independence Day. And many thanks to Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum for saving the world from the alien invasion. If you didn't get that reference, I hope you'll soon remedy that.

This chapter's recommended fic is _Slytherin Conversations_, by Night Essence, which cracks me up every time I read it.

Many thanks to all who have read and are reading, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write._

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XIII**

**The Artifacts**

* * *

_You know you don't have to make a decision tonight, Harry. It's probably best if you think on it for a few days._

_And if you do want to stay, that's perfectly fine. You don't have to go anywhere and it can be just the three of us. We could move to America. I've been there a few times and it's no England, but—_

_Sirius!_

_Fine, fine… just know that you don't have to go back, unless you want to._

_I know, but I need to._

Harry stared down at his unsteady handwriting. It always had been atrocious, but it was even worse now – or, at least, when they tremors in his hands struck. They only came now and then, but it seemed that they were becoming more and more violent when they did strike.

The journal in which Harry was writing was another invention by Sirius and Remus as a way for them to communicate. The journal was charmed to record whatever a person said, in their handwriting. The two of them had gotten the idea from Tom Riddle's Diary, which Harry had told them about when they had asked him about what had happened during school in the years before they met him. Needless to say, it hadn't been a pleasant conversation, but it had been a necessary one, and some good did come of it.

Because Harry couldn't speak, obviously the book wouldn't record his intended words, so he was forced to pen them in himself. Unfortunately, the tremors in his hands had been bad enough all day that they had needed to cancel their normal spellcasting training, because Harry could hardly aim when his hands were shaking so horribly.

Sighing softly, Harry placed the quill back on the page and continued writing.

_Voldemort is after me. I don't know why – Dumbledore has never told me that, but I can't just run away._

_Of course you can!_

_Sirius…_

_Look, Harry. This isn't you're problem. It's not your job and you don't have a duty to Albus Dumbledore to be there to stop Voldemort every year. You're fifteen years old! You're a child! I know that's hard for you to understand because you've never been allowed to be a child, but we want to give you the chance to be one now. I don't want you to think you have to run back there because it's your job to stop him. You never should have been placed in the situations you were, or forced to face him at all. You've had enough taken from you already, Harry. I will not let Albus Dumbledore take more from you, or from me!_

Harry swallowed thickly, blinking as he read the words as they appeared on the page. He didn't look up at Sirius or Remus as he placed the quill back on the page.

_You've told me all of that before, and I know you guys would let me stay with you forever if I wanted. And…_

And part of him really wanted to. Part of Harry wanted nothing more than for him to turn his back on Hogwarts and the Wizarding World both and spent the rest of his life with Remus and Sirius, with people who he loved, and who he knew loved him. It was such a strange, rare thing for him, and it meant so very much. More than he had words to explain, really.

But he could try…

_And part of me wants to. And I've thought about it, but I really do need to go back. I want to see my friends again, and I want to finish my classes at Hogwarts. I want… to be normal, or as normal as I can be. I don't want to run all of my life, and if that means I have to face Voldemort, even if it's not my job, then I will. If I have to stop him to be free, then I'll stop him._

He chewed his lip a moment.

_That's… you're okay with that, right?_

_Of course we're okay with it, Harry. We told you, it's your decision. If you want to go back, then we will. But let's wait a few days. I need to prepare a few people first, and give some of them time to calm down._

Harry relaxed. He had been worried that Sirius or Remus might think that he didn't like being here with them, when the opposite was true. He truly wished that he didn't have to leave, but he had this feeling that there was something coming. Along with it came the sensation that, unless he was at Hogwarts, where, save once, he had always faced Voldemort, he wouldn't survive.

And neither would anyone else.

* * *

"_There were seven originally, but the seventh hath fallen. The Dust was ground too deeply to be summoned back, its glimmer gone, its magic wrought. Six remain, that you shall hold. Six remain, that shall summon I. Six remain, that you must find."_

Six stones formed a circle in the air that spun slowly. Each stone was a solid sphere as large as a boulder, but as they rotated, one by one, they began to change.

The first, a green and blue mix of color, quivered as though something sharp were striking it. Small flecks of stone were chipped away bit by bit, as a chisel invisible to the eyes was hammered against the rock. The bits were taken from the center and tossed into the air, where they fell for only a moment, before disappearing – unimportant.

_Paeluis was the first formed. Her magic rested always in her power to hold. To strengthen her powers, her center was removed until she could hold all that could fit within her. She was the strongest of all of the stones, able to bear any burden, unhindered. _

The sharp stones edges left over from the chipping were sanded down carefully, until they gleamed smooth, creamy, and the center of the sphere now bore a basin into which something could be poured.

"_Paeluis will hold any object within her center with no harm befalling her womb. Her mate is Gladius, the speared one."_

The second stone was a gold and silver mix of colors. As _Paeluis_ returned to the circle of stones changed, the second stone began to alter. The edges were stripped, chiseled away, flecks and hunks broken off, to disappear out of sight. Something sanded down her edges, until they became smooth, but remained straight. The bottom of the stone ended at a point, like a sword.

"_Gladius always held his magic within his center, for he is strong and strikes true for the heart of things, but it is his heart that is his weakness, for no blood shall ever coat him and let him bear the burden of wrought destruction. He brings harm to no living creature, but his magic and strength can slice through any object." _

The third stone that began to change was a milky white. Something unseen moved over it, smoothing the creamy texture until it appeared almost porcelain. The center was sanded and dug at and burned, until the color was drawn away and all that remained was a thin layer as clear and transparent as glass.

"_Lapis Verim is sister to Paeluis, and her magic dwelled not within her body, but within her sight. She will look at all things in time, but no lies will pass her vision into the mind of another. No illusion or spell can hide from the sight of the one who chooses only to see Truth."_

The fourth stone was black as onyx, and something chiseled away at the edges, smoothing the stone into a cylinder that widened at the base. The object itself seemed familiar, like the model of a tower.

"_Turris is the defender, brother to the speared one. Where Gladius will cut, Turris will defend and protect. He bears the pain of others so that such pain can be halved in his presence. He protects all who he holds dear, all who are worth defending, and knows how to keep them safe. He is both the opposite of his brother, and his brother's greatest foe."_

The fifth stone was a deep red. It both gleamed like fire and dripped like blood. This stone did not move or change, but remained steadfast in its form.

"_Nothing could be done to strengthen the magic of Cor, for she is as she is – strong, made of magic and magic-making, bearing for all things passion, and alone both strong and fragile. She feels everything for others, and feels the everything _of_ others, and can use this, twist this, become this, and change who, where, and how another is."_

The sixth stone was rather unassuming. A mute brown in color, like dark mud, its sole change was a hole that was dug through the center of it, the edges smoothed into thin, elegant curves, until it was not so much a stone anymore, as a ring.

"_Orbis is the last of the stones, now that the seventh hath fallen. He is the one who hides, for one who seeks a stone shall see a ring as nothing of consequence. Those who seek out his magic shall not find it, for the magic hides but for that moment when it is not sought, and then it comes. Orbis is the binder, who bears the minds of two, and only two, in tandem. He is the mate of Lapis Verim, for he takes the truth that his mate sees and offers it to the mind of another, forever binding them, heart, mind, and soul."_

The six circled each other in the air, no longer stones, but now taking on the form of their magical properties. Slowly, they each began to shrink, until they would fit into the palm of a hand, near all but mere pebbles to be grasped.

"_These six must be sought, fought for, and borne. Paeluis, the bowl; Gladius, the sword; Lapis Verim, the Stone of Truth, Turris, the tower; Cor, the heart, Orbis, the ring. _

"_Once there were seven, and so there are seven of you, who shall seek and know and find and fight. Six of you will bear an artifact within your hands, and one of you shall turn to the shadows when your hands touch nothing. Let the six stones call to you in your dreams, and in your dreams, seek them. Find them. Fight for them. Summon me._

"_Do so quickly, lest you be bested by he who walks with Death, and seeks its master._

"_Fly, my six chosen. Fly, find, and _fight_." _

In the darkness of night's cloak, seven children woke up from a dream of stones and an echoing prophecy. Six children awoke with a purpose.

One child woke up screaming.

* * *

"M-Master… they're here." A short, balding man tried to curl into himself as he twitched and quivered before his master. He bleeted his words on a tongue of terror, his fingers flicking and twitching as his eyes scanned the room for the fastest escape route, should one prove necessary.

"Very good, Wormtail." A shadow in the corner moved and the pale visage of Lord Voldemort appeared, flowing across the floor like a creature from Death's playpen, escaped. He rested long, spindly fingers on the head of his personal lackey, who flinched under the touch. The Dark Lord smirked appreciatively.

"You have done well in this, Wormtail. If I could expect such work continuously, you would have no fear of reprisal."

Wormtail twitched and quivered, eyes rolling in search of the words he should respond with. "Y-Yes, m-my lord."

"Do not promise what I know you will not give me! Crucio!" The wand was in his hands in but a second, flicking and sending the rat-like man screaming to the ground in the throes of agony. The Dark Lord made a thoughtful sound, as he steadied his wand into a deeper press on his magic, causing the agony Wormtail was experiencing to increase double over.

Finally, he released the spell abruptly, and watched with only a small amount of interest as the man continued to convulse for a few moments, as he drew in great gasps of air.

"Have I driven you mad and useless yet, Wormtail?"

The balding man quivered, unable to rise. "N-No, my lord."

"So you're still sane, but you were always useless, weren't you, Wormtail?"

"Yes, m-m-my lord."

"Yes, I thought so. Do you know what I do to subjects who are useless, Wormtail?" Wormtail only whimpered in response. "Yes. Yes, I thought you did. Crucio!"

As the man dissolved again into screams, Voldemort walked to the large double doors that led to a grand ballroom. He was careful to keep his wand trained on Wormtail, continuing the cruciatus curse, as he pushed open the doors and stepped into the room beyond.

A group of Death Eaters, seven in total, waited for him in kneeling positions on the floor. Behind them stood four more cloaked figures – not Death Eaters, but something far more potent. They were each swathed in black cloaks, tied about their throats with crimson string, the hoods pulled forward so far that no penetrated the hoods to reveal even their eyes. Voldemort smiled a feral grin at the sight of them, but turned his attention first to his Death Eaters.

"You know why you are here?"

No one answered him, and he released Wormtail from the cruciatus to bring his wand forward, pointed at the Death Eater to the furthest left. "Answer me!"

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort kept his wand level on the masked face of the kneeling man. "Tell me why you are here."

"You need us to—"

"Crucio!" As the man collapsed, screaming, to the ground, Voldemort turned to the Death Eater next to him. "_You_ tell me."

"You want us to find the Stones of Life and Death."

"Yessss…" Voldemort removed the cruciatus from the other man, leaving him gasping. "I _need_ none of you, but I shall save myself some time. There are seven stones of Life and Death. They can be found within the Realm of Dreams, and once found, you will awaken with them in your hand. With all seven, I can summon Life, to kill Death." Or, _his_ death, rather, giving him immortality, and damning everyone who would try to oppose him. He had but to hold all seven stones within his hands to have command of the two most powerful magical creatures in the world. He would be completely unstoppable.

"Wormtail!"

The short man skittered into the room, having had enough time to recover that he could walk. He held a large box in his hands, which he held out to Voldemort when he had reached his master and dropped to his knees before him.

"Aahhh…" Voldemort breathed, as he flicked the locks that bound the box closed and opened the lid. Inside, there were seven small vials, each containing a mouthful of lavender-colored liquid. Gingerly, Voldemort picked on up in his long fingers and held it before his eyes.

"The Slumber of Ages. A potent potion, is it not, Severus?"

"That it is, my lord." Severus snape, clothed in a blackoyaoak and the white mask of one of Voldemort's loyal followers, stepped out from the shadows. He moved with a grace from the corner of the room where he'd lain in wait, and made his way nearer to the seven Death Eaters that bowed before their lord.

Voldemort glanced his way lazily. "Tell me of it."

"The Slumber of Ages is a potion that takes exactly a year to brew. It must be consumed during a full moon for full potency to take effect. When it is consumed, it sends the subject into a sleep that will last until the duty that has been assigned him prior to his slumber is accomplished. This duty can be anything, but if it is not accomplished, the sleeper shall never awaken. He will not remain asleep until he dies of old age, either, but shall begin to putrefy after seven day's time. Eventually, his body will devour itself."

"Yesss." Voldemort smiled cruelly at the liquid in the vial and spoke to the seven who knelt at his feet. "The seven of you are my chosen, to take the Slumber of Ages and make your way through the Realm of Dreams. The duty you are assigned is to find the seven artifacts of Life and Death and awaken with them in your hands." He held up the vial of lavender liquid. "You will each consume this whole vial upon the rise of the Sturgeon Moon, and then seek out the artifacts.

"Lucius, my most trusted."

"Yes, my lord?" The Death Eater to the furthest right rose to his feet and stepped forward.

Voldemort handed him a vial. "You are to seek out _Lapis Verim_."

"Yes, my lord."

"McNair, you will find _Turris_. Amycus, you are to find _Paeluis_." Voldemort handed each of them a vial of lavender liquid as they came forward.

"Bellatrix…"

"Yes, my lord!" the woman cried, very nearly leaping forward.

"You will seek out _Gladius_, the speared one."

"Of course, my lord!" the woman took the vial eagerly and unstoppered the top. She sniffed the potion with fervor, grinning from ear to ear.

"Fenrir, you will find _Cor_. Avery, I want you to find _Orbis_."

Voldemort stepped in front of the seventh Death Eater, the last vial of potion dangling from his fingers. "Alecto, I send you after the seventh artifact – the most elusive of them all." He handed the last vial of potion to the grinning woman. "I want you to find _Afa_, the Dust."

"As you wish, Lord Voldemort."

Once the seven Death Eaters who had been named Voldemort's chosen had left, and Severus had bowed and swiftly followed them from the room, the Dark Lord turned his attention to the four cloaked figures that were waiting for him.

"Lilith," he said by way of greeting, "I would tell you it was a pleasure—"

"But it is not." The voice that hissed from the shadows of a hooded cloak was a wheezing gasp of air that formed words that very well may have been a scream, if any force ever could have been placed behind them. They sounded like the last words from a dying woman's breast, the final sound on a final breath, but more kept coming. "Do not waste my time with petty trivialities, Marvolo. I am not pleased at having been disturbed, even for the likes of you."

Voldemort had always hated his father's name – the first, given to him like a brand, and the surname, marking him as belonging to the despicable muggle – but Lilith had forever refused to call him by a name which struck fear into the hearts of mortals and which his servants called him by. Thus, she called him by his middle name, Marvolo, which was not liked, but certainly less repulsive than the rest.

"For what reason did you summon me, Marvolo? I have many things better to do with my time. There are many creatures I would rather spend my time with than you." Voldemort knew she would much rather spend her time _eating_ some of these people than spending any significant time with them, but he said nothing of the sort.

"I have a proposition for you." Lilith said nothing, waiting for him to speak. "Albus Dumbledore has proven himself to be as constant in his interference as a thorn in its pricking. I need him to fall, and with him, the hierarchy he has built around himself. As he rests within a fortress, this cannot be done from the outside." His crimson eyes narrowed. "I need someone to do it from within. Someone that I can trust to be as ruthless and she is discreet."

Reaching up long, gnarled brown-green fingers, Lilith pushed back her hood, displaying a thin, bald head, skin stretched tight over a misshapen skull. Where her eyes and nose should have been, there was only skin, the same sickly color as her rotting hands. The only feature her face contained was a wide, round hole – a mouth that continually sucked air, as though constantly searching for a soul to devour.

The mouth abruptly widened and stretched into a grin that split her head in half, baring large, razored teeth that sat crooked in black, rotting gums. "The children of Hogwarts are always a treat, Marvolo, and I shall gladly infiltrate their masses. As for my children…"

"The dementors always have a place amidst my ranks."

"Very well. I leave you to your mortal rabble." She turned her head back toward the remaining cloaked figures, and had she eyes, it would have been obvious that she was looking at them. Lacking eyes, however, only her cavernous mouth sliding into the form of a sneer could be read on her face, before it fell back into a wide grin. "I shall ready my children. Soon, we feast."

* * *

"August 28th."

"Yes, Headmaster." Severus grimaced. "I know that doesn't give you much time."

"No, but perhaps enough. Why the Sturgeon Moon, however? Why not the Thunder Moon? I would have thought that he would wish to move faster, to ensure his success."

"It seems he has been planning this for some time," Severus admitted. "His patience is… alarming in this situation. Not that he has a great deal of it, but still, he is strategizing – setting up his pieces."

"Yes. Playing the Chessmaster. Still, his reasons for choosing the Sturgeon Moon?"

"The Crimson Moon, it would seem. It is merely a myth, of course—"

"As are most things of great power in our world." Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I hadn't even considered that a possibility, but it shouldn't have escaped me. So, Tom wishes to draw even greater power from the red haze of the August moon. Very well. I will do my best to gather together who I think would be most fitting to face Voldemort's chosen. They shall each have to face one of his Death Eaters in the Realm of Dreams.

"I am afraid, Severus, that I would choose you as my seventh. You may need to give up your duties as a spy for this."

"That is well enough, Headmaster. The second batch of the Slumber of Ages that I brewed is ready to be taken. I will gladly take one of the vials myself and enter the Realm of Dreams. Should I take the potion tonight?"

"No, Severus. The Realm of Dreams is a world quite different from this one. Entering it alone is dangerous, but to slip into its depths on multiple occasions is asking too much. We shall wait until the rise of the Sturgeon Moon ourselves, and enter the Realm of Dreams when Voldemort does. We will match his forces and find the artifacts before he can.

"If you have any suggestions for those who will join you, I would like to hear them."

"Only one, Headmaster, and I would like for it to remain beyond anyone's knowledge that I asked for him."

"Oh? Might I assume you would like a former professor to join you?" Dumbledore asked, his clue eyes lighting up in delight.

Severus scowled at him in return. "It is no manner of kindness of kindred spirits that have me wanting him there. Remus Lupin is a werewolf, and in the Realm of Dreams, the full moon will release his powers just as they do his control. A werewolf with mind intact and full use of his scenes and all of the gifts Lycanthropy grant him. I would ask for no greater tool than this, save omniscience."

"I cannot grant you the latter, Severus, so I shall speak with Remus of it should I see him before August's moon. I daresay Sirius may have some words for you, however."

"_He_ I would request you exclude, Headmaster."

"I do not wish for the Realm of Dreams to be bathed in the blood or spirits of either of you, my boy, and so that is a request I will acquiesce to." The headmaster rose to his feet from his chair, followed quickly by Severus. "And now, I believe we both have duties to return to. I must speak with those whom I can contact about entering the Realm of Dreams, and I believe you have potions to attend to."

"Yes, Headmaster." Severus inclined his head. "I shall bring the potion to you on the twenty-eighth."

"I will see you then, Severus. You have my wish for much luck, my boy. Do be careful."

"Of course, Headmaster."

* * *

_**Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. **_


	14. The Return

**Author's Note: **Hooray! It's Wednesday (Hump Day!), I am done working, and I've finished the next chapter!

Supreme amounts of thanks go out to Elenaiel, my awesome beta, who rocks my socks right into the dryer.

Supreme thanks also goes out to Tootsie and Snickers, my kittens, for being adorable.

Oh, and inspiring. Yes, they're inspiring. :3 But mostly adorable.

I hope everyone enjoys this chapter (I had a lot of fun writing it), and I look forward to hearing what you think. As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XIV**

**The Return**

* * *

_Dear Minerva,_

_I am writing this letter to you, because if I let Jack do it, he'd take up the entire parchment complaining about this, and never get around to telling you anything. Except maybe flirting a little – you know how he enjoys doing that. _

_We told Jim that the decision was his entirely, and he's decided that it's best we return to Hogwarts. We're planning to wait just a few days, as I know there are a couple people who will need to be prepared – that is, told and given time to calm down. I do apologize if this task happens to fall to you. I rather hope it doesn't. In fact, I think you should let Albus be the one to tell them. It seems a fitting punishment._

_I am content to wait for your reply, to tell us when the best time is to arrive, and where we should reappear. Please note that Jim is anxious to see his friends again, but also, I believe, rather nervous. Perhaps a lot of people is not the best of ideas?_

_I hope all is well with you and look forward to hearing from you soon. _

_Yours truly,_

_Jacob_

* * *

August 5th found Minerva McGonagall back at The Crooked House, for what she estimated to be the final Monday she would eat there. This brought some manner of regret, as she was rather fond of both the establishment and its food. Still, it would be good to have her three students back, as they were meant to be.

She watched as the muggles began to filter out of the restaurant, the spell having been shut off that made them believe the place had always been there. As the last of them wandered out, the rugged Jack Sparrow bounded over to her with a grin on his face. He grabbed hold of Minerva's hand and began to pull her into a dance.

"Honestly, Mr. Black, do behave yourself!" she cried, trying so very hard not to laugh as he twirled her around. Had she been wearing her cloak, it would have spun around her legs as effectively as a skirt, but the smart brown slacks and emerald green blouse she was wearing held no such extravagance. Still, they allowed her to blend in nicely in the Muggle World, and she was rather fond of them, to be honest.

"Oh, but Minnie, you bring out the worst in me, you know!" Sirius declared, completely giving up the pretence that his transfigured form suggested. He finished spinning her about and pulled her to him, grinning devilishly at her.

"Really now," Minerva said, pressing both hands against his chest and pushing away from him. She'd recognized that grin. It was a look he had given to many a girl at school during his days as a practicing student, either trying to coerce them into something, or distract them from one thing or another. She had ceased to be fooled by such smiles around the middle of his third year, and time had not dampened her awareness of the danger they held when present on his lips.

Sirius merely smiled at her with a mixture of happiness and apology. It was a good look to see. She had worried for a time, after learning of his innocence, that the years he spent in Azkaban would have completely destroyed him. While she could see some of the damage they had left on his soul, burning like coal-fires in his eyes, she was glad to see that the spark of mischief which had always caused her as much amusement as exasperation was still glimmering like a lit firecracker in his gaze. She hoped it never faded. Merlin knew their world needed the humor people like Sirius could bring them, and it was good to have him near Harry, childishness and all.

Minerva and Sirius both turned when the door to the kitchens opened and the second half of their party appeared. Harry and Remus had removed their transfigurations, and Minerva watched from the corner of her eye as Sirius followed suit, waving his wand over his body with practiced elegance and removing his own with ease. The dark-haired marauder grinned at both Remus and his godson in turn, and she was delighted to see that there was laughter burning in Harry's green eyes. She hoped that lingered, as well.

"Are we ready?"

"I believe so," Remus said, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "The Crooked House has been turned off, and everything is locked down so that it's protected. I don't think there's anything else we need to do, except return."

"Where are we going, Minnie?" Sirius asked, grinning at her.

"As you said in your letter, Remus," Minerva said, rolling her eyes in expected exasperation at Sirius, "the fewer people, the better. The Headmaster agreed to allow you the use of the castle for two weeks, until the meetings currently going on at Headquarters have been dealt with."

Sirius grimaced in distaste, but Remus was looking at Harry, who was moving his hands slowly, finger-spelling the word _Headquarters_ out as a question.

"We'll explain about that a bit later, Harry," Remus said, the words appearing in the journal Harry had opened in his hands. "It'll be easier for you to see it, but it's where the people Dumbledore has on his side are planning out their part of the war."

Harry nodded and Remus turned back to Minerva. "Are we portkeying, then?"

"Yes. I have one that should take us directly to the Headmaster's Office. He won't be there," she added, as reassurance, and held out a small wrapped parcel. Each of them touched a finger to it, and with a jerk behind their navels, they were off.

They landed heavily in a circular office all four of them recognized from their own specific times having been in it. As Minerva had predicted, it was empty – even Fawkes was absent from his perch. Harry pushed himself up from where he had stumbled to the floor and turned to head, as he suspected, right down the spiral staircase. Minerva caught his arm before he went too far and waited until he had turned back to face her.

"Harry, I'm afraid I'll have to part with you here, as I need to floo to Headquarters," she said, speaking slowly so that he could follow the movements of her lips. "I wanted to give you your birthday present, before it got even later." She handed the wrapped parcel they had used as a portkey to Harry. Surprised, he took the gift and, with a glance at Sirius and Remus, unwrapped it slowly.

The box under the wrapped paper was only large enough to hold a very small object, like a golf ball. Or, in this particular case, a golden snitch.

Harry glanced up at her, startled.

"Your father had one, I believe. I'm not sure where he got it, but I do know he enjoyed playing with it. For a Chaser, he was rather good at snatching it from the air, though not nearly as good at either Charlie Weasley or yourself. I daresay you don't need the practice, Harry, but I thought you might enjoy it, just the same."

Harry took the snitch from the box and watched in mute fascination as it unfurled in his hand, much like that first snitch he had held, in his first year. The tiny dragonfly-like wings fluttered, buzzed, and then the snitch was airborne, flitting madly about his head. He tracked it perfectly with his eyes, unaware that all three of his companions were watching him with expressions of amusement, nostalgia, and relief.

_Merlin, he looks like James in moments like these. _James had never been able to keep his eyes on the snitch at all points, of course – he was a Chaser through and through – but he did enjoy making the attempt. Moony had always been the one who could catch the snitch when it got away from the raven-haired youth, but they had never been able to convince their friend to play. Sirius had enjoyed a few years as a Beater, but none of them were as mad for Quidditch as James had been; ironically, of course, except for Lily. Sirius wondered, idly, if Harry knew his mother had also been a Quidditch player on the Gryffindor team.

_He can still keep it in his sights… _Remus had a thoughtful expression upon his face, unlike the nostalgic half-smile on Sirius' lips, and the Quidditch-crazed grin on Minerva's. Madam Pomfrey had informed them, after doing a full physical for Harry, that his eyesight had been affected by Vernon Dursley's beatings, as well as his hearing and his ability to speak.

Remus knew from his year teaching at Hogwarts and watching him play that Harry was an incredible Seeker, and that his eyes tracked the snitch easily. _Just as easily as he is doing now, in fact._

And that didn't really make a lot of sense. If the prescription of Harry's glasses were, as Madam Pomfrey had said, a far cry from what he would need now that his eyes had been further damaged, then Harry should have had a much more difficult time in tracking the snitch. As Remus watched, however, the boy flashed out a hand like a cat attacking a tassel and snagged the snitch easily from the air. Its wings flittered and buzzed futilely in his grip, as Harry kept a firm hold on the errant golden ball, and a blinding smile on his face.

_I think, perhaps, I will have to talk with Madam Pomfrey_, Remus thought, glancing at both Sirius and Minerva. Both of them were concentrated on Harry and didn't see his glances, and from the looks on their faces, Remus estimated that they had not come to a similar conclusion as he. That was well enough, as he could handle such a simple thing himself. It might require nothing more than asking Harry when, exactly, he had gone to the doctor's to get the prescription for his glasses. As cruel and neglectful as Petunia Dursley had been, Remus didn't think it would surprise him very much if it turned out that Harry had been going so long with the wrong prescription for his glasses, and if that were the case, that was good news. It could be that his eyes hadn't been damaged at all. He hoped so. Perhaps things weren't nearly as bad as they appeared.

Minerva was glad to have been able to give Harry his birthday present, even late as it was. She was even more glad, seeing the smile on his face, that she had asked Albus to allow her to replace the Quidditch balls this year, since they had been having some trouble with a few of them in the past. Filius had been more than happy to look over the old snitch and make sure that it was in tip-top shape and there was nothing wrong with it. As intelligent as he was, Minerva hadn't had any concerns about his talents being lacking, nor that any of her requests for certain charms being placed on the golden ball would become knowledge for those who were not meant to know of them.

A clock in the office chimed three in the afternoon, and Minerva glanced at the fireplace, as though expecting someone. Sighing, she turned to find Remus watching her, while Sirius was still studying Harry playing with the snitch.

"Ron and Hermione are currently the only two of Harry's friends present in the castle. They are waiting for you in Gryffindor Tower, where you are all permitted to sleep. It is likely that you will all be joined later by Ginny Weasley, and perhaps a few others. I have mentioned to Albus that a large number of people is not a wise idea, however, and he has agreed to allow only a few people to be present.

"Madam Pomfrey has been staying in the Infirmary, although I believe she had been making periodic visits to St. Mungo's. Filius Flitwick will be returning in a week to prepare for his classes. Should you need anything, however, Elena Morely is currently staying in a room near Gryffindor Tower. You may wish to speak with her, as she _is_ Harry's secondary guardian now, despite your disappearance."

"And how many people know of that?" Remus asked nervously.

"Fortunately, it somehow managed to escape the media's attention. I am grateful to whatever forces have managed to keep Rita Skeeter away from our current troubles, though I fear it won't last." The fireplace chimed and Minerva glanced at the flames. "I'm afraid I have to leave you now, but Gryffindor Tower is ready for your arrival. The password is _Kappa_, as per Miss Granger's request."

Remus smiled. "Indeed. Very well, then, Minerva. Thank you for your help."

"And thank you for returning, Remus, Sirius." She smiled at the raven-haired boy standing before her, a smile on his face, despite _everything_. "I'll see you soon, Harry."

* * *

Harry kept the golden snitch clutched firmly in his hand as he walked down the corridors of Hogwarts with Remus and Sirius. He tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach that was leading to a queasy sensation that bode no good will, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he might be sick. Really, it was just Ron and Hermione, and they were his best friends in the world. Why was he nervous?

He knew why, of course. He'd been missing for nearly the entire summer. He'd just disappeared without a word to either of them, and he hadn't sent either of them a letter to say that he was even all right. What if they were angry at him? What if they didn't want to be his friends anymore, not just because of his disappearing, but because he couldn't hear or speak to them? Would they just cast him aside?

_Not Ron and Hermione. _Harry shook his head gently, willing away the doubt. Not his two best friends, no. They wouldn't turn him aside just because he couldn't do something. They'd been friends since their first year, and they'd accomplished so much together – faced so much. They weren't petty, and he shouldn't doubt them.

And he was glad he would be able to see them again. He'd missed the two of them. Of course, over the holidays, he always missed his friends, but this summer it was even more noticeable. He wasn't around the Dursleys – he'd been somewhere where he was safe and cared for, and he'd wanted to share that with his friends, but he couldn't, because they were hiding.

_I'm back now, though, _he thought, _and maybe next summer, we can all spend time together. _It would be nice, Harry thought, to have a summer like other kids did, where he could spend time with his friends and have fun. He looked forward to it, almost as much as he looked forward to stepping back into Gryffindor Tower.

Sirius glanced over at the graying man walking beside him. Remus' lips were turned down slightly in one of his less-noticeable frowns of concern. "You're worried."

The werewolf's eyes flicked to the left, taking in the tall, dark-haired man who was rolling his eyes at him. Multiple times, of course.

"I can see you rolling your eyes, Sirius."

"Oh, good, then I can stop."

The two walked in silence for a while, before Sirius spoke again. "Why are you worried, Moony?"

Remus sighed softly. "There's always that chance…" He trailed off, shaking his head softly.

"Remus?"

"I always worried, when we were in school, that you would find out that I was a werewolf. I told myself that one day, when I was ready, and when I thought you were ready, I would tell you, but I'm not sure I really believed myself. In all honesty, I probably would have kept putting it off for as long as I could, because as long as you didn't know, things could stay as they were. I would be fine with things staying the way they were. You were all my friends, and that meant more to me than… than I think I can express." He frowned. "I wish I could explain it."

"I know what you mean, Remus," Sirius said softly, his voice losing the playfully teasing tone it usually carried. "Before I met James, and then you, I didn't have any friends, either." He left out Peter, since both of them knew where that friendship had gone. "There was just Regulus, and the children of my parent's rich friends. Having friends meant that I suddenly had a lot more to be thankful to Hogwarts for. It also meant I had a lot more to lose." He glanced at Remus. "That's what you're worried about, isn't it? Him losing his friends."

"It's what I'd worried about. What I had worried about."

"You worry about _everything_, Moony." Sirius gave his friend a sideways grin. "I see where you're coming from, but I don't think you have to be concerned. You _did_ see Ron in the hospital wing when the Weasleys came to visit, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course I did. Everyone saw him. However, have you considered the possibility that the truth hadn't sunk in yet?"

"Please, Remus, don't insult him."

"I'm not insulting him, but I had Ron as a student. He's not the brightest crayon in the box."

"Crayon?"

"Oh, shut up, you know what a crayon is, you pure-blooded heathen."

Sirius chuckled at him. "Remus, next to Hermione Granger, are we not all dimwitted fools. Except you, of course." Remus sent him a half-hearted glare. "Come on, Remus. When we were in school, you told me I could get straight Outstandings in probably every class except History of Magic if I really tried. So _why_ did I suffer through, attaining nothing but Acceptables and Dreadfuls?"

"Because you're a lazy mutt."

"Because school is better spent pissing off, doing something fun. Not sitting in a library, reading countless old tomes. I know you enjoy it, but we've discussed before how I think your wolfish dichotomy has rattled your brain in more ways than one."

"Ass."

"My point is, Ron is outshined by Hermione. Before that, I've no doubt he was outshined by his brothers. He has _five_ of them. I only had one and I know people saw Regulus as better than I was in school. Can you imagine how Ron has lived, hidden behind five older siblings? And his only younger sibling is the only girl. James was no dimwit either, and he was pretty good about doing his best. He certainly managed some high level scores on his OWLs. In the face of your genius, though, who saw James for his intelligence other than his parents."

"You?"

"The Great Potion Blunder of Fourth Year was never to be brought up again!"

"I never agreed to that," Remus said, laughing. "And technically, it wasn't a potion blunder. The Lustful Love Elixir was, somehow, brewed to perfection. It's just a pity that it was you who drank it, instead of Lily." He smiled at the annoyed look on Sirius' face. "I think I still have pictures somewhere. I should tell Harry about that sometime."

"Don't you dare."

"It'd be a great lesson as to why one should not experiment with volatile ingredients."

"You don't shut up and I'm going to experiment with your face."

Remus snickered, but shook his head. "All right, all right, I promise I won't say anything. That was embarrassing for all of us, I assure you. And I doubt Minerva would wish to be reminded of the incident."

"She'd probably give me detention again. Scrubbing toilets. In the second floor girl's bathroom."

Remus burst out laughing at the thought. "Do you think Myrtle still has a crush on James?"

"I don't know, but I don't want to go back there and risk having her talk about him for hours on end. Once was enough."

The two laughed until their silence returned for a while. "You're right, of course," Remus said, finally. "I shouldn't judge him based on a teacher's perspective, or at all, really. I know he's not stupid. You saw his face, too, when I told him I'd contact Arthur when we'd relocated Harry."

"Yeah. He'd pretty much figured it out straight away. I'd thought you had caught onto that."

"I did. I don't think he's stupid, by any means, I just… worry."

"Like usual." Sirius smirked. "Things are rarely as bad as you tend to think, Remus, but if it turns out that they do reject him, then we'll be there to straighten it out. We'll whisk Harry off to America and start over. We'll have a happy life."

"I thought that was our plan if the Headmaster goes against his word."

"It's a general Plan B."

"Sounds to me like you're just hoping we get to use it."

"When we get to America, I'm changing my name to Cozmo, and I'm dying my hair green."

"For a pure-blood, you watch way too much of the telly."

* * *

"Kappa," Remus said, as they neared the Fat Lady's portrait. She spared only a moment to glance at them, before swinging open.

"I had wondered if she would refuse to let me by."

"Oh?" Remus asked.

"Yes, well, I did do quite a number on her when I was trying to get into Gryffindor Tower." He smiled sheepishly at Remus. "I wasn't exactly in my right mind at the time."

"That's completely understandable," Remus said defensively. "In any case, if I'm not mistaken, I believe the headmaster may have wiped the memories she'd held of that time, since it was apparently rather traumatic for her. I believe she'd threatened to resign her post at the time."

"Resign her post as a guardian of the towers? Has any portrait done that before?"

"I don't believe so."

"Wow. I must have been really scary."

"You were," Remus assured him, deadpan. "The memory of your wretched scent will frighten dormice for years to come."

"Harry!"

Remus made the wise decision to take a large step back and barely avoided the blur of brown hair that rushed past her and engulfed the raven-haired young man standing just behind him. Harry let out a sound like an "oof!" as he was nearly tackled by the bushy-haired young witch. It was a frequent occurrence he should have come to expect by now.

"Hermione, let him breathe, will you?" Ron asked, poking his head over the couch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said, pulling away from him. "We've just missed you so much, and we were worried." Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, I was worried. Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon." She bit her lip suddenly. "And you didn't hear any of that, of course."

Harry grinned suddenly and made a motion with his hands.

"Oh!" Hermione bounced on her heels giddily, grinning widely. "You're learning Sign Language! Oh, that's _wonderful_, Harry! We can practice together. I know the whole alphabet, of course, and some words, but I doubt the Hogwarts library has any books on it, since it's a Muggle-designed language. We should order some books from a bookstore near my house, or have my dad mail them to us."

"Here we go," Ron muttered. "School hasn't even started yet and we're gonna be back in the library."

"That sounds familiar," Sirius said, glancing at Remus.

"Shut up, Padfoot."

Hermione dragged Harry over to sit on the couch with her and Ron, so Remus and Sirius stood back at another part of the common room, watching the trio. Harry was showing Ron and Hermione the book that Remus and Sirius had created for him. Sirius snickered when Hermione nearly squealed in delight and started talking about how great an idea it was.

"I think you have a fan."

"Nah, she knows I'm one of the creators of the Marauder's Map. I'm safe." Remus watched as Hermione gushed over the detail put into the spellwork around the journal, while Ron rolled his eyes and huffed indignantly when Hermione started berating him about his horrible penmanship.

"Hermione, Harry's handwriting is worse than mine!"

"Yes, but Harry hasn't been using a quill his _entire life, Ronald_." Ron grimaced. "If you took a little more time, your writing might even be legible."

"Yes, _Mum_."

"I think they're going to be all right."

"Told ya. You worry too much, Moony."

"Yeah, so you've said."

"Did I?"

"Getting senile in your old age, Padfoot?"

"Hey, I'm not the one with the grey hairs, _Mister Lupin_."

"No, you're the one who dyes theirs with magic."

"Do not."

"Do so."

"Furry ape."

"Flea-bitten mongrel."

The two let their insult banter die off, as Ron burst out laughing, drowning out Hermione's indignant mutterings, but doing nothing to quell the smile on Harry's face.

"I'm glad they're back together. Harry needs his friends as much as he needs us."

"He needs his friends more," Remus said quietly. He glanced at Remus. "He's been alone so long, they were the first people who showed him safety and comradeship. They'll be the ones that will stick with him through the rest of it."

"Yeah. You and James were the same way for me, Moony."

The two watched in silence for a long time as the three friends laughed and talked and caught up.

"Thanks, Remus."

"You're forever welcome, Sirius."

* * *

**Is there going to be a pairing for Harry?**

Harry will be paired with Ginny eventually.

**Fascinating...I get the impression that the chapters before this were merely the setup, and that now the story truly begins.**

Yes, that is precisely the way I am working this. :) I'm glad you were able to gather that.

**I'm so confused - and I can't even begin to imagine how much planning you must have put into this story.**

Sometimes, I find that I, too, am confused. And that's when I realise that the characters are writing the story and I am merely the vessel. :) I'm glad you're enjoying it, confuddled dizziness aside.

**Bleh... the 'mother' of dementors**

After weeks of having initially read this review, I am still trying to determine the emotion behind this sentence. Disgust? Exasperation? Fear? Are you terrified of my mad skillz as a writer? So am I, more of the madness than the skills... but I am curious.

**BTW if Harry is having such a hard time writing, why is he still trying to write with a quill? Couldn't they make him an ever-full ballpoint pen or something?**

The Magical community has, in my eyes, always had one thing above all that it found exceedingly important. Tradition. I doubt they would allow anything Muggle-esque within the walls of their society without throwing an outrageous fit. This excludes photos and posters and such, often brought by muggle-borns or half-bloods.

**Or maybe a pen spelled to write words he thinks?**

I happen to have considered something to that affect at one point. However, it occurred to me that Legilimency, the magic through which one may read the mind of another, is considered one of the greyer magics, even though it can be used for good purposes (mental communication, for instance). Regardless that it would be used to aid an impaired child, the magics of mental viewing dance on that fine line that has people raging and roaring in fits.

I have recently started a Formspring account! For those of you who are unaware, Formspring is a site on which one may start an account and people may ask them questions that they can reply to. Because I answer questions on the following chapters, which often takes weeks, the fastest way to get an answer from me short of mugging me on the street would be sending me a question on Formspring. Not only will I answer it as promptly as permitted, but I will also enjoy it. :D My penname there is UmbraeCalamitas.

Many thanks to all who read and reviewed, and will review. I look forward to comments, and your questions, wherever they can be found.

As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	15. The Reunion

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the incredibly long wait. My laptop finally decided to kick it, and died silently one day to my immense cursing. I have since replaced it with a newer, much more reliable model, but it still took a while to get this chapter out around fighting with that and real life.

Much thanks goes out to my beta, Elenaiel, who seems to keep me in suspense as much as I do the lot of you.

I hope you enjoy the chapter and will grace me with your reviews. As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XV**

**The Reunion**

* * *

The small golden ball clasped in Harry's hand was like a promise. The wings fluttering against his palm brought back all the greatest memories of his first year, when he was introduced to Quidditch, when he held that golden ball for the first time, and when he learned that he could be good at something. It was a promise that things were not as bad as they might seem, and that they would get better. Even if he had to learn to live with being unable to hear or speak for the rest of his life, things would get better. He was back at Hogwarts, after all. The way that Sirius had talked, usually to Remus but occasionally hinted at to Harry, there was a possibility that he would keep Harry from going back to school. Harry had never been entirely certain whether Sirius was kidding or not. He had a feeling that, if not for Remus, there would have been no question.

But he was here, back at Hogwarts, and going to see Ron and Hermione. And yes, he was worried. He was concerned that things would be awkward between the three of them, especially since Harry had disappeared for two months without a word to either or them. And things were different now, with him being unable to speak, and unable to hear. Would that change things? Would he lose the two of them?

And for a while, that concerned him, except the fragile golden wings of the snitch fluttered constantly in his hand and acted like a reminder… hadn't Ron and Hermione's friendship been a constant for him since they became friends? They'd had their moments, of course, when they argued, but when it came down to it, both of them had been there for him through everything. They had risked themselves far too frequently to help him accomplish some foolish self-appointed mission. They blatantly refused to leave him on his own.

A bit like the ever-present wings on his snitch, he supposed.

Harry brushed his thumb over the golden coating of the snitch. He thought he saw it glimmer oddly back at him, but then a movement out of the corner of his eye caused his to look up instinctively.

At times, well, at all times, he wished he could still hear. However, there were some times that it really bothered him that he couldn't – when he knew he was missing out on something truly precious, being unable to. The sight of Sirius and Remus laughing, unrestrained, as they walked down the hall, was something that made Harry want to burst with happiness. It also made him sad, because he could see the mirth in their faces, but he could not hear their laughter. And he knew that from the two of them, laughter was a rare treat not to be taken for granted.

The two did their best to keep things light around him. They were always happy to be with him; that much was clear. However, he would catch them sometimes, with a sorrowful look in their eyes, or a deep frown on their faces. It was always when they thought he wasn't paying attention, or believed him to be in another room. He would catch them glancing at one another, sometimes talking, sometimes speaking without words, or on the rare occasion, one looking at the other without being noticed. Their eyes and faces would always hold some deep emotion he didn't often get to see from them, because they hid it when they thought he was near.

He was fairly sure that some of the sadness was due to him. Some of the anger, perhaps, too. He didn't want them to feel that way about him. It wasn't their fault what his Uncle Vernon had done, but they seemed determined, sometimes, to blame themselves for it. It seemed to happen at night most often, as though in the darkness the two were unable to defend against both the shadows and their own dark emotions.

Other times, the looks didn't seem to be about him so much as they were discussing some topic which bothered them. Dumbledore, at some points, he was sure, as he knew both were angry with the headmaster on some levels. The other times it might have been anything. Harry knew from little things he had picked up that Sirius and Remus were a part of something that had to do with Voldemort, but he knew very little about it beyond that. But anything that concerned Voldemort was an unpleasant topic, and so the dark looks made sense.

That other look, though, that he had seen both of them give the other at times, came when one of them was unaware. Sometimes, he would step into the room, and he would find that Remus was working on something, and Sirius was somewhere behind him, watching him with eyes that were riveted, but filled with some deep well of emotion that seemed to merge sorrow with anger and hope and pain and fear, and so much that Harry could not give a name to. It was in these moments that he would do his best to escape the room unnoticed, and sometimes, more often lately, he could succeed. And he would leave the two to hopefully sort out whatever was going on, but it hadn't been yet. In some ways, perhaps because he didn't understand it as well as he did the others, it was this last look that bothered him the most.

The laughter was sometimes present at The Crooked House. Sometimes, they would be playing Exploding Snap or Chess, or some other game, and someone would say something to someone else that would cause the two older men to laugh, and Harry would smile but try not to lose himself in the humor. It wasn't because he didn't want to get pulled into that uncontrollable mirth, but that he didn't want to lose himself in his own. He wanted to sit back and lose himself in theirs – he wanted to be able to see every creased line that formed on their faces as they burst into laughter at themselves or each other. He wanted to watch their faces redden with mirth and their eyes shut tight, because this visual humor was so utterly _rare_ that he couldn't bear to miss out on it. He'd missed so much of their lives already, being stuck with the Dursleys, he wouldn't allow himself to lose any more than he had to.

And now, walking down the corridor together, he was able to watch them laugh again. He knew the two had been talking. When they walked past a set of candles or a torch on the wall, he could sometimes catch the movements of Remus' hands in the air as the man gesticulated. When they had first taken him to The Crooked House and he had seen them talking to each other, it had bothered him. He didn't know if they were talking about him, or if they were arguing about whether or not to return him to Hogwarts, or to the Dursleys. Sometimes, Sirius would get very angry during the conversations, and Harry would get worried, and he would disappear somewhere in the apartment beneath the restaurant, to try and hide his worries away with himself.

After one particularly heated argument, Harry had ran outside, away from the restaurant, and spent a while simply walking down the road, contemplating whether or not to call the Knight Bus to take him to the Burrow, or to the Leaky Cauldron, like he had done in his third year after blowing up Aunt Marge.

In the end, before he could make up his decision, Remus and Sirius had found him and took him back to The Crooked House. They'd had a long talk there, involving a lot of writing to make sure that they could fully understand one another. Sirius had explained his anger at Dumbledore for not telling them what Harry had been through in his years at Hogwarts, and how he wanted to keep Harry with them and not bother with his going back to school. Remus' argument had been that simply running away wasn't the answer, and it was Harry's choice anyway. The choice wasn't to be made that day, but Harry could solve part of the problem by telling them what had happened in his first few years at Hogwarts. That long story had spawned the creation of the journal that allowed him to read what people were saying, and having the ability to open a book and read the words that were being spoken eased his mind when it came to Remus and Sirius' discussions, as well as their arguments.

Sometimes, he would see them arguing and would open his book and see that their argument wasn't nearly as violent as it appeared when he couldn't hear, and that it often concerned something as trivial as what time they were getting up in the morning (Sirius wasn't a morning person, but Remus was often awake at five or six o'clock). After a time, Harry began to worry less about what the two were discussing, and he didn't always need to open the journal to see if they were talking about him. Sometimes they were, and other times, they were just talking. He grew used to the fact that the two of them talked a great deal. They had, after all, been friends for a long time.

So seeing the two of them talking as they walked down the corridor didn't bother Harry. He had his journal tucked in his pocket, and if he'd really wanted to, he could open it and see what they were saying. He wasn't concerned, though, and he was content to watch them laugh for the time that they did, and think about his friends as they walked on, until they finally did reach the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

Really, Harry should have been more prepared for Hermione's greeting.

The anxious brunette nearly knocked him off his feet as she flew into him, wrapping her arms tightly around him in a hug. It was the customary greeting she had always given him when one of them had been away, or when he had been at the hospital wing, or when they were reuniting after the summer. He should have expected it, except that he hadn't been sure he was going to get one of her tackling hugs today. He had been worried, on some level, that he would arrive at Gryffindor Tower and they wouldn't be here.

But no, Hermione had greeted him as she always did, and there was Ron, sitting backwards on the couch and waving at him. He had that look on his face that he usually got when he was making a smart remark to Hermione, and Harry saw her roll her eyes, and start talking to him. He did his best to keep up with the movement of her lips, but Hermione always had been as fast a talker as she was a reader, though he caught the main idea of it. She had missed him.

He had missed her, too. Both of them.

Hermione's excitement about his learning Sign Language, and the journal that Remus and Sirius had made, was contagious. Or perhaps he was really just that thrilled to see the both of them. They sat together on the couch, as Harry pulled out his journal and allowed them both to test it out, seeing how their words appeared in their own handwriting on the page.

"_Oh, honestly, Ron, your handwriting is atrocious."_

"_The book is writing that, Hermione." _

"_Yes, __in _your _handwriting. __You __really __should __be __neater.__I __imagine __your __grades __might __improve __if __the __professors __were__c apable __of __reading __your __work.__"_

_"Hermione, Harry's handwriting is worse than mine!"_

_"Yes, __but __Harry __hasn't __been __using __a __quill __his_ entire life, Ronald_.__If __you __took __a __little __more __time, __your __writing __might __even __be __legible."_

_"Yes, _Mum_."_

Harry picked up the self-inking quill that Remus and Sirius had bought him and began to write in the journal. He thought it was likely a good idea to change the topic, before Ron and Hermione got into one of their infamous arguments.

"_What __did __you __guys __do __over __the __summer?__"_

The two stopped bickering, and Harry looked up to find that they were looking at each other with uncertain expressions on their faces. Harry frowned and wrote in the journal again.

"_What is it?"_

There was a long pause, the two of them not saying a word, before Hermione finally spoke up. He could just imagine her tone by the way she spoke – a careful, uncertain note in her voice, with her enunciations as crisp as she spoke when performing research.

"_Harry. How much do you know of what happened after you, Sirius, and Professor Lupin disappeared?"_

"_He probably knows more than we do, Hermione."_

"_Not __a__lot,__" _Harry admitted, scratching out the words with his quill. _"__I __know __Dumbledore __was __looking __for __us, __but __couldn__'__t __find __us. __I __didn__'__t __really __ask __about __anything __else.__"_

"_You didn't even ask what we were doing?"_

"_Oh, Ron, why would he? Harry's never gotten to know what we were doing unless we could write to him or he came to the Burrow, and he didn't get to do that often."_

"_Yeah, well, that's gonna change." _

"_Yes, __I __hope __so, __too.__" _Harry saw her turn her head back to look at him. _"__You__'__re __right __that __Professor __Dumbledore __was __looking __for __you, __Harry, __except __that __it __wasn__'__t __just __him. __He __had __a __lot __of __people __out __searching __for __where __the __three __of __you __had __gone__ – __a __lot __more __people __than __I __thought __the __headmaster __had __working __for __him.__" _

"_He's not just the Headmaster, Hermione. He has a ton of other jobs." _

"_I __know, __Ron__…" _Hermione shook her head. _"__Anyway. __Harry. __They __spent __over __a __month __looking __for __you, __but __no __one __could __find __you __and __he __had __to __call __off __the __search. __Ron __doesn__'__t __think __he __called __off __all __of __it, __though.__" _

"_My parents were in a right bloody fit, mate. I've never seen Dad so mad, and none of us stuck around where Mum was. I think they made sure Dumbledore had some people keep looking for you. Not that it helped, of course."_

"_We thought maybe you weren't coming back."_

"_Sirius __didn__'__t __want __me __to.__" _Harry hesitated a moment, but then put his quill back on the page. _"__Part __of __me __didn__'__t __want __to, __either.__"_

"_Why __not?__" _Harry could see Ron's temper flare up. _"__Why __would __you __even __think __of __never __coming __back?__"_

"_Don__'__t __be __angry __with __him, __Ron.__" _Harry flicked his eyes to Hermione to find her face bore the scolding expression she occasionally used on the redhead. _"__He __was __probably __happy __where __he __was, __with __people __who __cared __about __him.__" _She turned her head and met his eyes. _"__That__'__s __it, __isn__'__t __it, __Harry?__"_

Harry gave something of a sheepish smile. _"__It __was __nice __to __spend __a __summer __with __family. __I __love __coming __over __to __the __Burrow, __Ron__ – __your __family __makes __me __feel __like __I__'__m __part __of __the __family__—"_

"_You are, mate."_

"_But __Sirius __and __Remus__… __Sirius __is __my __godfather. __I __should __have __been __living __with __him __from __the __start, __not __with __the __Dursleys. __It __was __nice __to __have __a __summer __that __is __the __way __things __were __meant __to __be.__" _Harry considered the one glaring difference between the way things should have been and the way they were. _"__Mostly, __at __least.__"_

"_Oh, Harry. Is it hard, not being able to hear?"_

Harry frowned in thought. _"__It__'__s __confusing. __It__'__s __not __like __it__'__s __quiet, __because __there__'__s __no __sound __at __all. __It__'__s __like __there__'__s __nothing __there. __I __didn__'__t __realize __how __much __I __used __my __hearing __before. __Not __being __able __to __speak __is __annoying, __but __not __as __difficult.__"_

"_What about classes, though? Will you still be able to attend Hogwarts if you can't cast spells?"_

"_Hermione! Only you would worry about classes above everything else!"_

"_Honestly, Ron, I am not. I'm just saying, you won't get kicked out of school, will you?"_

"_They can't expel you, Harry. It's against some law – it has to be."_

"_It__'__s__fine, __I __can __still __attend __classes,__" _Harry wrote quickly, because he could see the two of them working themselves into a frenzy – Hermione a panic, and Ron a rage. _"__Sirius __and __Remus __have __been __teaching __me __how __to __silently __cast __spells.__"_

"_Wait, __so __you__'__ve __been __learning __Sign __Language _and _silent __spell __casting?__"_

"_Lip-reading, and some other stuff, too." _

"_Ugh, it's like school over break!" _

"_Oh, that sounds so exciting, Harry!"_

"_Maybe they'll let you join, Hermione. Lupin can be the professor, and Sirius can be the Headmaster."_

The thought of Sirius as the Headmaster had all three of them laughing, and Harry knocked his journal to the floor. Calming down and retrieving the book, he saw words appearing in it, in Hermione's hand.

"_There __have __been __some __strange __things __happening __this __summer, __Harry.__" _He glanced up at Hermione to find her expression had sobered. _"__We__'__re __not __allowed __to __tell __you __about __where __we __stayed__…"_

"_Everyone just calls it Headquarters."_

Harry perked up. Remus had mentioned something about that. Hadn't he said that Harry would be shown it later?

"_Do __you __know __about __it, __Harry?__" _Hermione must have picked up on his surprise.

"_Remus mentioned something, that's all."_

"_Oh, well, maybe you'll get to see it, too. Bit of a dreadful place, though." _

"_Oh, __get __on __with __it,__Hermione,__" _Ron interrupted. _"__There__'__s __something __secret __that__'__s __been __going __on__ – __some __kind __of __meeting __that __no __one __but __the __members __are __allowed __to __know __about. __Fred __and __George __know __something, __I__'__m __sure, __but __Mum __and __Dad __swore __them __to __secrecy, __and __Mum __must __have __threatened __them __with __something __pretty __bad __if __they__'__re __not __even __gloating __about __it.__"_

"_We don't know what it is, other than they have a lot of meetings, and we think Professor Dumbledore is the leader. There are a lot of people that show up at Headquarters when it's time for meetings. Some of the people are very… diverse, too."_

"_George told me one of the guys at Headquarters was a vampire!"_

"_And __I __think __George __was __lying __to __you.__"_ Hermione shook her head to disperse the thought. _"__There__'__s __something __else __that__'__s __happened, __too, __Harry.__" _She looked a little uncomfortable with what she was about to say. _"__I __think __we __must __have __had __a __spell __cast __on __us __or __something, __because __it __doesn__'__t __make __any __sense, __otherwise__—"_

"_A bunch of us have had some pretty wicked dreams lately."_

Harry's hand tightened on his quill. A dream about a strange artifact had been haunting his dreams for weeks now. He hadn't said anything to Sirius or Remus; when he woke up, the dreams and what he learned it them didn't seem to matter nearly as much as they did when he was asleep, and he never wanted to break the moments that they were in with discussion about Voldemort and what may have to be done to stop him, if his dreams were telling him the truth.

He remembered back over a month ago, though, when he was still in the hospital wing, the dream that he'd had about the tree that bore his soul, and the branches that were his connections to his friends. Every time he faced some danger, since he had started coming to Hogwarts, he had faced it with a friend by his side. They were his strength, so perhaps some creature, divine or not, was ascertaining that he had some strength with him when he faced something that would wish him weakened.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up to find Hermione and Ron both giving him concerned looks. He glanced down at the book and saw that the two of them had continued talking, but he hadn't been paying attention. He skimmed through what they had said, but they didn't mention anything by name. He placed the tip of his quill to the page.

"_Lapis Verim." _

The sound of a gasp cannot be properly spelled out in words, but Harry could see the sound on Hermione's face as she and Ron read the two simple words he had written. He met her gaze when she lifted her head, and he could see her eyes were filling with regretful tears. She didn't want her dreams to have been true.

"_Cor,__" _Hermione whispered, and Harry read the word on her lips.

Nor did he need to read the word _"__Turris__" _scrawled in Ron's untidy hand.

"_Do you know who the others are?"_

"_Ginny__'__s __been __dreaming __about __Orbis,__" _Ron admitted. _"__She __always __wakes __up __crying__…"_

"_We're not sure about the others. I don't know who to ask, and I'm not certain we should be writing in the post about it." _

"_No. __This __needs __to __stay __secret.__" _Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and placed the tip against the page. In his mind, he thought of an empty white canvas on which no marks had ever been made…

The visible pages of the journal rippled like a puddle, outward from where the point of Harry's wand had touched. The black ink the words were scrawled in ran as though wet, carried by the rippling pages until they seemed to be driven off of the page. When the spell ended and the rippling was done, the pages were blank.

"_That was incredible!" _

"_Bloody hell."_

Harry grinned at his friends, picking his quill back up and pressing it to the page again. _"__So __what __else __has __been __going __on?__"_

* * *

Learning that Snape would be staying at the school for the time that they were there had made something of a dent in Harry's mood. Even the knowledge that Snape was actually married and even had a son hadn't been enough to make him feel better; confused, yes, since he found it incredibly hard to believe that someone was willing to marry the snarky bastard, much less have a kid with him. And Snape didn't like children – that was obvious from the way he treated his students – so how in the world would he handle caring for a child of his own?

It made absolutely no sense to Harry, and he wasn't looking forward to eating dinner with the snarky git himself.

The other professors staying at the school would be there, as well, which made things a little better. Harry was glad that the headmaster wasn't staying at the school. He could tell Sirius and Remus weren't at all pleased about planning on dining with Snape (although Remus looked more worried about how Sirius would react than about being around Snape), and he knew the two of them wouldn't have been able to handle being around Dumbledore.

The Great Hall was set up like it usually was during breaks, with a single large table around which the appropriate number of chairs had been placed. Harry had been worried, briefly, about who he was supposed to sit by, but Remus had solved the problem by dragging Sirius off to sit next to Minerva, leaving Ron and Hermione to sit on either side of Harry. He'd glanced over at his godfather to see the dark-haired man wink at him, before saying something to Minerva that made her slap him lightly on the arm, looking falsely affronted. Harry could only grin in response.

There weren't a lot of people staying at Hogwarts, and the absence of the headmaster was an odd thing to get over. Ron sat on Harry's left, while Hermione was to his right. Remus sat next to her, followed by Sirius, then Minerva, and then an olive-skinned woman with long, wavy hair and dark eyes. A young boy sat next to her, and between the two of them, it wasn't hard to discover who they were.

Harry hadn't previously met Elena Morely, as he had been asleep when she visited the Hospital Wing before they'd left Hogwarts before. Remus had made sure to tell Harry about her, however, and the fact that she had signed papers that named her his secondary guardian, so that Remus could remain as Harry's primary guardian. Sirius had been moping about the whole thing the entire time that Remus was explaining it, and Harry had to agree that he didn't like it either, though he did understand the need for it.

That didn't stop him from wishing that Sirius' name was cleared so that the three of them could be a family without any complications. And having any connection to Snape's family wasn't something that made Harry feel any easier about the situation. He knew how much Snape hated him, and he had no doubts the man would attempt to use this to his advantage in any way he could think to. Only the knowledge that the document was done up to sate the Ministry kept Harry from throwing a fit about it. As far as he was concerned, Remus and Sirius were his only guardians, and as long as he had them, nothing else mattered.

As he studied them, the woman looked over the table at Harry and smiled, offering him a small nod of acknowledgement. Her dark eyes were kind, and Harry couldn't resist the smile that stole his face in response. The young boy beside her turned his head, as well, hair flopping, but seemed to find nothing overly interesting about Harry and turned back to his mother right after, continuing a conversation that they had been having. One less person mooning over his name was perfectly fine with Harry, and he looked to the boy's right.

That seat was no doubt reserved for Snape, but was currently empty. Next to it sat Professor Flitwick, the diminutive man sitting on a pile of books so that his head peered over the table. Ron looked extremely relieved that the man was sitting between him and the chair that would hold Snape when he arrived.

The house elves had clearly been told not to wait on everyone to arrive, and food had appeared on the table to everyone's relief. People passed dishes back and forth, the adults often doing so with a mere flick of their wands, much to the delight of both Hermione and the young boy sitting next to Elena. Harry wasn't sure he had ever learned the boy's name.

Harry had a spoonful of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth when Snape arrived, all billowing robes and dark glower. The man paused in his action of pulling out a chair when he caught sight of Harry staring warily in his direction.

Swallowing thickly, Harry looked down and shoved the spoon in his mouth. His eyes remained steadfastly _not_ on the professor, so he missed the man swiping at his mouth with a hand and the look he passed to his wife when she muttered something under her breath in another language.

Between the two of them, Conan giggled and rattled something off in the same language which made Snape glare at the younger boy. Harry lifted his head in time enough to see the dark look he had become so familiar with over his years at Hogwarts, only to be surprised to see the large grin on the boy's face in response.

The long-fingered hand that settled so gently on the boy's dark head caused Harry to pause in his chewing, and he watched as Snape pulled his chair out the rest of the way and took a graceful seat. His lips moved in a manner that Harry was unfamiliar with, and he could not read the boy's response, either, but he saw the way the boy's eyes lit up and the smile that curled his lips and he was surprised to feel a part of him relax.

This was… new. Harry returned to eating his dinner as he considered the hand that Snape had placed on the younger man's head. It was strange to see such a simple gesture performed, but Harry knew he only thought so because he had never expected to see Snape as the one doing it.

After all, that was the exact same gesture that Sirius used on him, and though no words had ever been spoken to define it, Harry didn't need to hear anything to know what they meant.

He loved Sirius, too.

* * *

**Just a comment, for verisimilitude's sake; speaking slowly would have made it much harder for Harry to read her lips, not easier.**

For the sake of clarity, in this case, "speaking slowly" in this case meant that Hermione wasn't prattling off at incredible speeds like she is wont to do. It is likely I will use this later to clarify in chapter.

**Also, why is there no mention of resentment or annoyance on Harry's part for Sirius and Remus talking over his head? He might not be able to hear, but I'm sure their accompanying movements were noticeable - laughter, hand gestures, eye rolling. And if Harry can't hear anymore, I'm sure he's paying as much attention to his other senses as he can - so I doubt the conversation slipped past him entirely.**

Were Harry with other people, like Dumbledore, or anywhere near Snape, he would likely be angry that they were talking over his head, considering that they could be talking about him. However, he trusts Sirius and Remus, and he has been around them for most of the summer, and so is accustomed to the ways of their conversing.

**So glad to hear Harry will be paired with Ginny! Can't wait to see how that happens!**

You'll have lots of time to watch it form, I promise. I have no intention of having them spy each other this year and instantly fall in love.

**Oh, and don't you think that I missed the bit about the spells on the Snitch ;-) I can't wait to find out what that's all about.**

Oh dear, you've caught me. ;) Good for you.

**I hope that you let the ministry find out about Voldemort earlier then the entire 5th year.**

The ministry is a bunch of idiots pretending to know what they're doing.

**Harry could do so much better then a girl who looks like his mother. **

It seems that the fondness of red-headed women may be some sort of gene, as I happen to know it runs in my family. My mother is a red-head, and my brother has mostly dated red-heads, so it's really not all that unlikely that Harry is attracted to a girl that looks like his mother. Even the other way around, girls often end up getting with men who are much like their fathers.

**This is so very well written, totally could be published if there was ever a chance of that.**

Thank you! Unfortunately, there is no such chance, though I'm nearly finished with my novel and will be happily informing my readers when it's published, for those who like my writing style.

As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	16. The Weeks Gone By

**Author's Note: **Dear Gods, is she _ill_? Not even two full weeks have passed and she's posting again? _What has the world come to?_

No, dear readers, I am not ill. I am, however, saddened that I missed a month there, posting for you, and I felt that I should make it up to you. I hope you are pleased.

Innumerable, irretrievable, and even an obnoxiously collosal amount of thanks go out to my beta, Elenaiel, who is surely some sort of goddess in the guise of a human, the flesh of her fingers disguising the tips of many red pens, which she uses to mark up my chapters with her gleeful corrections and comments that amuse me to no end. May you tormet my muse until she succumbs to your brilliance, oh great, Elenaiel, as she refuses to succumb to mine.

Today, the fic that I am suggesting is in my top favorites list and a current obsession. Perception is Everything, by Kendra James, is an excellent fic, and the only reason I have found time to even write this chapter is because I'm waiting on her to post tehe next of her own. Please, go bug her with your reviews. After, of course, you bug me with some. Please.

**Edit: **Apparentely, the text I had italicized didn't go through with the proper coding. It has been fixed.

As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write._

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XVI**

**The Weeks Gone By**

* * *

If Sirius was truly honest with himself, Harry was not at all what he had expected.

He had, of course, had contact with his godson at points throughout his fourth year, but that was not the same as spending actual time in the presence of the boy, living with him. During their conversations after their reunion two years prior, and especially during the time they had been working together on an errand for Dumbledore after Voldemort's return, Sirius and Remus had been discussing Harry.

Sirius had wanted to know everything that Remus knew about the younger man – every little detail that he had learned from the first moment he had set eyes on the third year on the Hogwarts Express until the present moment at which they were speaking. Remus had obliged Sirius, of course – how could he not?

And he had told Sirius that Harry was so much like James; so very much. Except, Remus had not been specific, and so some small – and stupid, he would admit – part of him had expected to be living with a godson who was cracking jokes and pulling pranks and more oft than not wedging his foot in his mouth – less so now, of course, circumstances being what they were.

The person whom Sirius had met, and had been _happy_ to, of course, was indeed very much like James. But Harry was not like his father had been in school, oh no. Harry was very much like James had been years after they'd graduated. In fact, Harry acted a great deal like James had after he and Sirius had spent a few years as Aurors and had... seen things.

Horrible things.

There was a look he could sometimes catch in those emerald eyes; one he would find directed at nothing presently there, but which always gazed far off, into the recesses of some distant place. It was a look he knew from having been an Auror – a look of someone who had seen things that left him afraid, burned.

Haunted.

It was a look that had been present in James' eyes, after extremely bad cases, in the dark moments when the two of them sat around a bottle of Firewhiskey, trying to outstare the alcohol, or drink enough to burn away the memories. He knew he had borne the gaze then, himself, and knew, too, that he wore it sometimes now, when the memories of Azkaban would become too much to ignore and he would fall again into that dark place where all he could remember was cold and fear and regret…

Harry wasn't at all like Sirius had expected, because he had expected to live with a child, and that wasn't the case. Harry wasn't a child, and damn Albus Dumbledore and the Dursleys and Voldemort and Wormtail, and damn Sirius himself for good measure, for causing Harry's childhood to be torn from him years – _years_ – before it should have been.

What little time they'd had him – and looking back now, it seemed like such a short amount of time – Sirius and Remus had done all they could to help Harry, while giving him the childhood he so desperately deserved, and needed. It would never make up for what had been stripped from him, no, but Sirius was glad they were able to give him a little of what had been lost, just the same.

Standing in Dumbledore's Office now, Sirius looked at the hearth with regret. The students of Hogwarts would be returning to the school in a few days and the new term would begin. Sirius didn't want to leave Harry, but he knew he needed to. Not all of the professors at Hogwarts were aware of his innocence, and many were returning later today. The Headmaster had arrived only a week ago, though Sirius and Remus had done their best to avoid him up until this point. Neither of them had truly forgiven him yet for his failings, despite his apology, and Sirius didn't think it would take much from the old man to set Sirius on such an edge that he stole Harry away again, with no intention of ever bringing him back. It was only because of the Order and the knowledge that Sirius and Remus would be staying at Grimmauld Place, where the meetings were taking place, that the two were forcing themselves to endure the Headmaster's presence now.

For his part, he didn't look like he was enjoying it much, either. Of course, they weren't exactly being warm toward him, and he shouldn't dare to expect it any time soon.

"I take it Harry has had time to sufficiently recover over these last few months?"

Dumbledore's voice was sincere in its curiosity, and Sirius was sure that the man really did care, but he couldn't bring himself to be kind to the man who had caused his godson so much unnecessary pain.

"As much as he _can_ recover." Sirius was aware of Remus looking at him from the corner of his right eye. The werewolf looked a little like he expected Sirius to lunge at Dumbledore, but that was Remus' job, being the furry-inclined member of their duo. Sirius was happy to launch his attack upon the headmaster verbally. Wasn't that why the damned old man was so fond of his pet Slytherin? Damn Snape to Hell, too.

That had not been pleasant, running into the greasy bat of the Hogwarts dungeons, who chose to linger within the stone walls long after he was supposed to be up and gone. Hadn't the Marauders succeeded in driving the foul man from a place that had better washing facilities than his hair tended to suggest?

Learning that the greasy git had been staying at the castle had been yet another unpleasant revelation on top of a high stack of the same. The first time he had seen Snape had been when they'd all eaten lunch together that first day at Hogwarts, but Sirius had run into him later in the week. It was strange, he had to admit, how one's view of another person could change when they were seen doing something unexpected. Sirius wasn't about to start thinking that Snape was the kind of person he'd want as a friend, but there was no way in hell he would be able to look at the dour Potions Master and think for a moment that he was as heartless a bastard as he pretended to be.

For some reason, Sirius couldn't even bring himself to be angry about the loss of this perspective.

_With Ron and Hermione at the castle, Harry was spending a lot of his time with his two friends. Remus and Sirius had been spending most of their time around the three of them previously, just in case things didn't go as well as they had hoped. After all, while Harry was no different despite his disabilities, it certainly wasn't a cakewalk trying to communicate sometimes, with a boy who could neither hear nor speak. The journal helped, yes, but sometimes taking the time to write out responses to his friends' automatically-appearing comments was an inconvenience._

_Having had both James Potter and Remus Lupin as his own best friends at Hogwarts, Sirius really should have expected better of Harry's two friends._

_Watching the three of them interact was very telling. The three were still developing into themselves, yes, and they would change over time as teenagers were meant to, but four years in each others' company had clearly had an effect on each of them._

_They could read each other._

_It wasn't perfect, of course. Sirius would have been demanding to know which of them knew Legilimency, and which was a Telepath, were that the case. No, it wasn't perfect, but it was impressive. Remus and Sirius had watched the three for a few days, staying in the Gryffindor Common Room where the trio spent most of their time when they weren't at dinner, reminiscing over school days gone by, when a different trio could hold conversations that required no words at all._

_It became apparent that they didn't need to be there to supervise. Harry was in good hands with his friends, so the two had decided to find their own means of entertainment. For Remus, this was visiting Professor Flitwick and scouring through the library. For Sirius, it was wandering the halls on the whims of nostalgia and thinking of his days as a student, when life was so much simpler, even though it hadn't seemed so at the time._

_He was making his way down a corridor rather out of the way of the main halls when he heard a childish squeal echo up the stone walls, and then the pounding of sneakered feet on stone as a black-haired child bolted into view, waving a letter in his hand like it was the severed head of some defeated enemy._

_For just a moment, Sirius was eleven again, running down the corridor at Grimmauld Place, a thick letter in his hand that he had just taken off the leg of a tawny owl. There was a grin plastered to his face that could not be removed, and he was screaming in delight at the top of his lungs, not caring how much trouble he would get into for it later, "I'm going to Hogwarts! I'm going to Hogwarts!"_

_"I'm going to Hogwarts!"_

_Sirius blinked away the memory at the same words, repeated in the voice of a different child. He looked again at the small boy racing down the hall, black slacks and green sweater declaring his Slytherin loyalties despite not having yet been sorted. A moment later, a tall, thin creature slid out of the shadows and into view, managing to catch up to the boy despite moving with an ethereal grace that could never be mistaken for running. Hands swooped down under the child, lifting him off his feet with an involuntary squeal, and then leaving him hanging somewhat haphazardly in parallel with the stone floor, his captor's right arm around his stomach as the boy's legs kicked slowly behind him and his hands jerked, searching for balance._

_"Daa-aad," the boy declared in a whine._

_"_William_," Severus Snape intoned severely, plucking the Hogwarts letter from his son's clenched hand with the swift delicacy that a chameleon uses when snapping flies from the air. "As I recall, you are presently located at Hogwarts, and therefore, running down the halls and screeching like a crazed banshee that the Headmaster has kindly agreed to permit you entrance is foolish and more than slightly asinine."_

_The stupid grin that appeared on the younger boy's face could not be ignored, and Sirius found himself smirking despite the fact that one of his mortal enemies stood not ten feet away. "Bet you did the same thing when you got your letter."_

_"That is besides the point." Snape swung his arm forward, propelling the boy's feet toward the floor and letting him catch his balance, before releasing his hold of the eleven-year-old. "Some form of dignity is expected of those who will have their names synonymous with the House of Slytherin."_

_The black-haired youth straightened the green sweater he was wearing, the grin now gone and an uncertain expression on his face, even as he refused to meet his father's eyes. "The hat…" The boy licked his lips and managed a glance at his father's face before finding something entertaining in the stones of the corridor floor. "The Sorting Hat might not place me in Slytherin."_

_From his place at the corner of the corridor, half-hidden in shadows, Sirius could see the eyebrow on Snape's face rise. The gesture was not unfamiliar, but it seemed different – less cold – when done to an eleven-year-old boy who looked remarkably similar to the man standing across from him._

_"Did you believe that I was unaware of this?" Snape asked, an incredulous tone in his voice. "I assure you, William, that I have been teaching at this school long enough to know that blood means very little where the Sorting Hat is concerned."_

_Sirius was reminded rather sharply of his own sorting, which had been a monumental moment in his life that had been both wonderful and disastrous in the same incident. He doubted, of course, that it was the same sorting that Snape was thinking of, but the idea was the same._

_"But won't you be… disappointed?" The in me was left unsaid, but it rang as clearly in the hall as if the boy had screamed it despairingly._

_Snape scoffed, and the sweeping of his hand through the air seemed an attempt to cut the concern the boy held from his shoulders as one would sever a puppet's strings with the sweep of a sword. "You are my son, William—"_

_"But you just said blood—"_

_"William." The boy closed his mouth with a soft click of his jaws and stared at his father with wide eyes. Sirius swallowed convulsively as the tall man in black robes who had come to be known as a plague upon the dungeons of Hogwarts, knelt down on his knee in front of the boy, so that their eyes were level. "William, you are my son. You will be placed in whatever House would best suit you so that you may be around those who will understand you. No matter where you find yourself Housed, William, because you are my child, you will always have a part of you who holds a place in Slytherin. Even if it makes its appearance as nothing more than your fondness for snakes." He plucked his fingers at the sweater his son wore. "And the color green."_

_The younger boy smiled, though it was a shy, almost wary grin as he murmured his next query. "Even if I end up in Gryffindor?"_

_The Potions Master sneered in contempt, but there was no lie in his pitch eyes. "Yes, William. Even if, through some tragic lack of proper parenting on my part, you manage end up in the pitiful hovel that is the House of the Lions."_

That had occurred weeks ago, and Sirius had not yet informed even Remus of what he had witnessed down the not-quite-empty corridor that he had been using to spar with his memories. Neither of the two had seen him, so engrossed were they in each other, and Sirius was content to let them both believe that such a moment had been spent only in the company of one another. Had it been he and Harry in that hall, instead, Sirius would not like to have known that someone had borne witness to such a private moment.

That thought had been passing through Sirius' mind with disturbing frequency over the past few weeks. Sirius did not know for certain, had he been in that position, if he could have honestly told Harry that he would be proud even if he had not been in Gryffindor. It was viscerally disturbing, to suddenly be so self-aware of one of his greatest faults, especially considering it was one that could so easily hurt his godson.

Sirius had been prejudiced against the Slytherin House since he was a young child. He knew this was because of his family and the fact that every one of them who was a Slytherin was also an ass-kissing Death Eater. His hatred of Slytherin had followed him to Hogwarts and, had all else not been sufficient, would certainly have been the deciding factor in making sure he was not in the same House as the rest of his family. His brother's and cousin's reactions, both verbal and physical, to his treason at becoming a Gryffindor, backed up by green and silver housemates, had spurred a seven-year rivalry exacerbated by pranks that ranged from harmless fun to borderline attempted-homicide.

Had Harry been a fellow student of Sirius' instead of his best friend's son and his godson, and had been sorted into Slytherin, Sirius knew how he would have reacted then. The boy would have become _one of them_, been labeled an enemy, a _Slytherin_, and loathed and pranked until the hatred Sirius felt was returned in equal measure, as he had made certain to do with every other member of that House.

Times change people, however, and it was more than just twelve years in Azkaban that caused Sirius' views to shift. Harry had told him and Remus that the Sorting Hat had originally tried to put him into Slytherin. Sirius was still glad that Remus had managed to respond first – to Sirius, by casting a silent Silencing Spell on him to _shut him the fuck up_ before he said something that he would not be able to take back.

After thinking over it, Sirius had calmed down enough that he and Remus were able to talk about it once Harry had gone to bed. With Remus' logic and his over-sized brain working in tireless circles, he had made Sirius see what the man had never been able to as a child: what exactly the Slytherins were.

It never really struck Sirius as odd that Remus had no views of the different Houses as negative. At the start, it had been because Remus was Remus – purehearted Gryffindor, unable to hate anyone. Once Sirius had been knocked arse over teakettle by the truth, and had realized that Remus was a werewolf, it still came as no surprise. Why would Remus, who had spent almost his entire life as a creature feared and hated, look at others with prejudiced views that labeled them for something that was decided by a _hat_?

Sirius wondered if it would be so easy to change his ways. He could say that it wouldn't bother him now if Harry was a Slytherin, but Harry was a Gryffindor, and it wasn't possible for him to be resorted. He thought back to the young boy who had been running down the corridor, yelling about his Hogwarts letter. Sirius had been introduced to him first as Padfoot, and then later as himself. Both times, he had been told that the young boy's name was Conan, and he didn't know why Snape would call the boy William. That aside, if the young boy, who had been cheerful and kind (if a little overly exuberant), were sorted into Slytherin, would Sirius hate him based on principle?

He had no reason to like the child, save for the fact that Remus seemed fond of him, and vice versa. In fact, he had more reason to hate the young boy, being the son of his greatest school rival.

But that wasn't fair, to hate the child for who his father was. Sirius had met Elena Morely, as well, the supposed wife of Severus Snape, and she had been as kind as her son, if more refined, and quite beautiful. If those two people could balance out his biased opinion of Conan or William Morely, then would he hate the child for being a Slytherin?

Would he?

Sirius had no actual answer to the question, and that bothered him. What if Harry had been sorted as a Slytherin? Would Sirius have escaped Azkaban and come to Hogwarts, only to turn his back on his godson because of his House?

_No. No, I wouldn't have._

_Right?_

Sirius had always liked to think that he was in the right. In school, he was a member of Gryffindor, the House that Godric Gryffindor had founded, from which great wizards had graduated. The House, it was thought, that Albus Dumbledore himself had graduated from. He had made great friends, and together, they had given the Slytherins what they deserved, pranking them extensively. The rest of the school, even some of the teachers, had laughed at their pranks, they were so grand, and such just desserts.

But, looking back, Sirius was beginning to wonder if the pranks weren't deserved – if the actions of the Marauders were, in fact, quite cruel.

When he and Remus had been talking after Harry went to bed (read: arguing), Remus had brought to light precisely what he thought of the four Houses, analyzing them in-depth for Sirius to see. And he had seen.

The Sorting Hat told them, every year, what kind of people each House held, but to the casual listener, the song was sometimes easy to ignore. Remus had laid it out for him.

Gryffindor, the brave, the daring, and the chivalrous.

Ravenclaw, the intelligent, witty, wise, and creative.

Hufflepuff, the loyal, dedicated, patient, and fair.

Slytherin, the ambitious, cunning, resourceful, seeking power.

_"There, see! You've just said it yourself – Slytherins are all about power!"_

_"I said no such thing, Sirius, and don't you dare go putting words in my mouth. Slytherins often seek out power, yes, but they are also ambitious in their endeavors, resourceful with all that they have, and possess the cunning to achieve what they desire."_

_"No matter the means," Sirius growled._

_"Yes, you're right. No matter the means." Remus gave him a long look. "What makes a person want power, Sirius? It's not evil. I want power."_

_Sirius scoffed. "You don't want power, Moony—"_

_"Don't assume so much, Padfoot; I assure you, I do. Everyday I wake up, I wish I were more powerful. Every night when I go to sleep, I wish I held more power than I do. There is little I wouldn't give for the power, Sirius, to control the wolf within me. Were it possible to attain a cure for Lycanthropy, I can likely name on one hand what I wouldn't give up, and who I wouldn't use to attain that cure. Were it necessary to achieve my goals, I, myself, could show the same cunning and resourcefulness as a Slytherin. Were it necessary._

_"But it's not, because there is no cure for Lycanthropy. I have no need to be resourceful and cunning to achieve what cannot be achieved. I have no need to use ambition to seek a power that is not to be found. I do not. But those children – and they are children, Sirius; do not forget that. Those children may have need still to be cunning. They may have arrived at school with ambition, with an innate resourcefulness, seeking some form of power. Would it not make sense, that in mind, that Harry could have possibly been sorted in Slytherin? After all, what has he been doing for the past fourteen years but being resourceful and cunning? Do you think for one moment that he did not wish he had the power to escape from under the Dursley's roof? Sirius?"_

_Sirius swallowed thickly and raised his eyes from the floor to meet the green-gold gaze of his best friend. "I… never thought of it that way."_

_"I know. You're not the only one, Sirius. Most people don't look at it like that. They see the word Slytherin, and they think Dark Wizard. Just like they see the word Werewolf, and they think Monster."_

Put in perspective like that, Sirius could understand, clearly, where Remus was coming from. He could never look at Remus and think he was a monster. Could he then look at a Slytherin and think they were bound to be Dark Wizards?

_It's not fair._

No. It's a cruel thought – a line of thinking that ruined people's lives. How many wizards and witches who had been sorted into Slytherin had been turned dark, not by the House or by their own initial goals, but by the way they were treated by others? How many had shied from the Light simply because of who it was that dwelled there? How many had wanted to be a part of something great, who had wanted to stand against Voldemort those years ago, and had been driven off by the people who claimed to be in the right.

_No_, Sirius thought, his eyes widening in surprise at himself, _I won't judge Conan if he becomes a Slytherin, or anyone else, for that matter. I won't. _He peeked a glance at Remus, who was talking to Dumbledore. _Because I choose not to._

"If you're ready, Sirius, we'll floo to Grimmauld Place." Dumbledore ignored Sirius' grimace of distaste. "At the moment, only a few people are present and it should be safe for us to continue our discussions there."

Sirius resisted the urge to sigh as he pinched a bit of floo powder and tossed it into the fire, calling out the dreaded name of his old home. He was whisked away in green fire and stepped out of the hearth a moment later, taking a seat at the kitchen table and waving his borrowed wand.

The floo flared twice more, depositing Dumbledore and Remus into the kitchen, as a tea tray with three cups, a steaming kettle, and a small plate of biscuits floated over to settle on the table.

"Ah, how lovely," Dumbledore said, plucking a tea cup from the tray and holding it aloft as the charmed kettle tipped and poured steaming water into it. Dumbledore stirred in a lemon drop he'd pulled from his pocket and sipped carefully.

"Now, where were we? Ah, yes." He set the tea cup down and returned his attention to Remus. "I know you are concerned, but I promise you have nothing to worry about. The Slumber of Ages potion has been used before on those with Lycanthropy, and asides from a minor difference in the way the potion releases one from its effects, everything should occur with you just as it will with the others."

"It's not just the effect on me that I am worried about, Headmaster," Remus said, clutching his tea cup in his hands. "You're sending seven people into another world – a world they access through their minds – to retrieve something that Voldemort is also sending people after. If you knew they would be searching for something, why did you not have us take the potion a week ago and keep these artifacts from Voldemort's hands completely?"

"Voldemort is aware of what he is looking for, Remus."

"And we are not." The flat tone Remus was using was a dangerous one.

"Not completely, no."

"I would be very interested to know, Headmaster, how that's any better."

Sirius tuned the two of them out. He thought Remus was being too generous, using Dumbledore's title, but he wasn't going to say anything. He was too angry. He didn't want Remus to take the Slumber of Ages potion. Not only was it brewed by that slimy—

Not only was it brewed by Snape, but the potion itself was dangerous, no matter how safe Dumbledore assured them it was. Despite what he had said, however, Remus had made his decision, and Sirius didn't want the two of them to get into another fight over it. They had tried that already, and some awful things were said, and when they were finished, nothing had changed. Remus was still taking the potion, Sirius was still forbidden to, and they were both still mad at Dumbledore.

Sirius was grateful that, at least, Remus didn't seem to be angry with him over some of the things that had been said, and he certainly wasn't angry at Remus, just worried for him. He turned his mind toward other things, however, not wanting to think on that anymore. The conversation the two were having didn't even involve him.

He allowed his mind to wander, thinking back to a few days prior, when the Hogwarts letters had arrived. Even while staying at Hogwarts, the letters were still delivered to Harry and his friends by the school's tawny owls. Sirius had never thought to meet someone as book-crazy as Remus, but he found that person in Hermione Granger, who went absolutely nuts over the booklist for classes, much to the apparent horror of Ron Weasley.

Sirius couldn't restrain the small smile that appeared on his face at the memory of Ron Weasley's face when the prefect badge came tumbling out of his letter, right after he had finished talking about how Percy how gotten bigheaded and pompous about his prefect status, in regards to the badge that Hermione had received in her letter. Sirius had seen Harry smile widely, and then quickly write down something in his journal and show it to Ron. It was quite a feat, in Sirius' opinion, for someone's face to turn as red as their hair.

It didn't appear that Harry was overly bothered by not being chosen as a prefect, and Sirius couldn't blame him a bit. While he was in school, he had done nothing worthy of earning the position of prefect, and he was, to this day, quite happy with that. Remus had been the good boy of their group and had probably been named prefect in a mere attempt to keep the rest of them in line. It had failed miserably, of course. Sirius wondered if that was why Dumbledore seemed to give up in seventh year, and just made James Head Boy, regardless?

Sirius glanced to the clock behind him. Ten o'clock. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had planned a trip to Diagon Alley to buy their schoolbooks. Ron had mentioned, more than once, that he was glad they were already at Hogwarts and he hadn't received his letter while at the Burrow. Apparently, all of his older siblings, save the twins, Fred and George, had been prefects in the family, and Ron's mother had a habit of making a scene when someone received such an honor. Or, as Ron called it, a shiny hassle.

Because they were at school and, with Remus and Sirius being forced to leave, without any of their guardians, Elena Morely had offered to escort them, as she needed to take her son to Diagon Alley to get all of his supplies, as well. As she told it, the boy could hardly sit still, he was so excited; this would be the trip during which he picked out his wand. Elena should be meeting them in the Great Hall in half an hour, from where they would take a portkey to the Leaky Cauldron. Sirius was a little disappointed. He had been hoping that he could go to Diagon Alley with Harry, as Padfoot, but Remus had expressly forbidden such a thing. Sirius knew he was right; it would be playing with fire, wandering out in public, even when under the guise of his animagus form. Still, despite knowing that it was too dangerous, Sirius was sad to miss it. He had missed so much of Harry's life, and he had to miss this, as well.

"Sirius?"

Sirius glanced up to see that Remus was staring at him, and the spot across the table where Dumbledore had been sitting was empty. He frowned at his friend. "Where'd the old man run off to?"

Remus gave him a look of gentle reprimanding, but Sirius ignored it.

"He went to go talk to the others who would be taking the potion."

"And who is that again?"

"Not that you'd been told the first time, but asides myself, there will be Alastor Moody—"

"Mad-Eye?" Sirius declared, sitting forward in his chair abruptly so it rocked off its feet. He crowed with laughter. "Is the old codger gonna lay off the paranoia long enough to take the potion?"

"Siri," Remus said with fond exasperation. The animagus merely grinned at him. "Bill Weasley, and Nymphadora Tonks."

"Wait, Nymphadora? As in my cousin?"

"One in the same."

"And Bill Weasley. Does Molly know that her oldest son is being sent on a secret mission?"

"I don't know, but regardless, you will not be the one to tell her."

"If I was her—"

"You're not, and I'm sure all seven of her children are happy for that." He rolled his eyes when Sirius stuck out his tongue. "Kingsley Shacklebolt." He ignored Sirius' loud groan. "Severus Snape and Mundungus Fletcher."

Sirius snorted. "I hope Dumbledore plans to be around when everyone's taking this potion, or you all might pop off to Dreamland, and Dung will be off pawning that potion to someone. How much does the Slumber of Ages potion go for?"

"I'm not telling you," Remus said pointedly, "because if I do, you'll try to steal the potions and sell them to Dung. And he would cheat you. You're a shitty haggler."

"Bite me."

"Not on your life."

Sirius crumbled a biscuit between his hand, scattering the tabletop with crumbs. He kept his eyes down and wouldn't look up at Remus. "When are you taking it?"

A hand settled on his shoulder and Sirius glanced up on instinct, into a pair of gold-green eyes. "It'll be all right, Sirius."

"But you were telling Dumbledore—"

"I was being difficult on purpose. I have no intention of making things easy on him." He patted Sirius' shoulder gently. "I wanted to go to Diagon Alley with Harry and bring you with me, Pads." Sirius gave him a confused look. "The-Boy-Who-Lived doesn't have a dog, Sirius, but the media doesn't follow my every move like clockwork." He shrugged at Sirius' surprised look and offered him a playful smile. "Don't look so surprised. The Sorting Hat considered me for all Houses – even Slytherin."

Sirius shook his head. "That doesn't surprise me in the least." He glanced down at the table, and then back up at his friend. "Are you worried?"

Remus shrugged and removed his hand from Sirius' shoulder. "As much as is normal before a mission. There's danger, yes, but we know the potion has been brewed properly, and we have everything planned out. And I have a feeling that Dumbledore knows more than he's telling us. He probably doesn't want anyone to know that isn't taking the potion."

"As if I would tell anyone."

"I know, Pads, but Dumbledore is determined to remain close-mouthed about this. Considering that he's finally told us all that has happened to Harry these past years, I think maybe we should give him his secrets in this. He'll have to tell me when we go to take the potion, and even if he told you, there's nothing you could do to help."

"And I'll be stuck in Boscastle." Sirius wasn't at all happy about having to spend the next week by himself in Remus' cottage in Cornwall. Some members of the Order of the Phoenix were unaware that he was innocent of the crimes he had been imprisoned for, and so he wouldn't be able to spend the next week at Grimmauld Place. Instead, he would be counties away from his best friend, alone.

"It'll go by quickly, Sirius."

Sirius grunted, deeply doubting that. He flicked grey eyes toward his best friend, who was looking like he felt guilty. "When do you take the potion?"

"Tonight," Remus said quietly. "Nine o'clock."

Sirius nodded. "Seven days, right?" Remus nodded. "All right. I can handle seven days." Sirius grabbed another biscuit and began to crumble it in his hands. _I can handle it._

* * *

**Author's Note: **am aware of the fact that Severus calling Conan "William" may cause some confusion. You are not the only ones; Sirius doesn't understand it, either. This little mystery will be revealed in the next chapter, which promises to be a very good and exciting chapter. It will be up in time for the Winter Holiday.

I have found myself surprised by the amount of people who do not like the Harry/Ginny pairing. Frankly, I thought that I was a member of a very small group of rebels raging against the unfortunate romance. Regardless of the fact that it is not my first choice, I will be keeping this fic Harry/Ginny (likely more of a prelude to the actual romance in this story, with the romance evolving in the sequel). I consider it a two-fold challenge for myself: writing a pairing I do not like effectively, and trying to turn other people toward that pairing. I will see how I manage.

I would be interested to know, however, what pairings people enjoy, so you may consider this something of a poll, if you wish. Mention any pairings you like! Although this trilogy will focus upon the main pairings of Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, and Sirius/Remus, they will not be the only pairings therein. I look forward to hearing what everyone thinks.

Because there will not be another post before the coming holiday, I wish my fellow US-dwellers a Happy Thanksgiving. Please enjoy your dinner, whatever it may consist of (frankly, I am boycotting the turkey).

Thank you for reading, I look forward to hearing from you, and, as always,

Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream.


	17. The Dementors

**Author's Note: **Supreme thanks to my beta, Elenaiel, whose turnaround for this chapter broke both her own record and the sound barrier! Considering that this computer has no speakers, the latter wasn't difficult. Thanks, Elenaiel, for making my day!

I know a lot of you were getting bored with my slowly moving the story in, so I hope this chapter brings a smile to your face, and you should know it is indicative of those yet to come.

This chapter's recommended fanfic is _In Care Of_, by Fang's Fawn, and it's a wonderful fic which I enjoyed reading very much. Also, I would like to mention again that anyone with any questions about the fic, or me, or why grass is green, is free to Formspring Me. Asides from giving you the option of asking me a ton of random questions, it would also help to relieve my boredom. You can find the link on my profile.

I was going to wait to post this chapter with its following around the winter holiday. However, a computer virus has temporarily killed my laptop. I have high hopes of being able to get the next chapter up around the holiday, but I thought to put this one up now. Consider this chapter a celebration of my having completed my last day of school, and that I will be graduating next weekend.

As a note: Just after Christmas, I will be leaving to visit my dad out of state, and won't be back until after the new year is in swing. I will not be posting in January, to allow for this vacation, but I hope to have a double-post for you in February, and yet another before the end of this year.

Finally, I hope you will all let me know what you think of the chapter, as I'm quite proud of it and, frankly, I could use some company. Dementors are scary shit, man.

As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XVII**

**The Dementors**

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were walking together toward the Great Hall. They had been already this morning for breakfast, but had returned to the Gryffindor common room in order to prepare for their trip to Diagon Alley, while Remus and Sirius went to the Headmaster's office in order to leave for Headquarters.

Unable to hear their footsteps, Harry kept both of his friends in his peripheral vision as they walked. He wished he could speak to them as they strolled down the stone corridors, instead of his ears being bound by a silence that left him floundering in instances that were once so easy. Even with that, Harry was glad he was here, walking beside his two best friends.

Although, he had to admit, he wasn't too keen on the idea of going to Diagon Alley with the son and wife of his least favorite professor. Especially when he stepped into the Great Hall to find that Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy were there, as well.

Harry felt himself falter, though he didn't realize he had hesitated in step until Hermione's hand tightened on his arm and she urged him onward. Harry followed with reluctance, and the three of them stepped up to the group of four with wary eyes watching the Potions Master.

"Potter," Severus growled softly, though it was pointless for him to even shout. The boy would not hear him. He turned his attention to the closed-off expression on Weasley's face and the over-intelligent gaze of the know-it-all. "You can rest assured that I will not be placing myself in the horrid possession of needing to escort you in public." The professor sneered at both of them, before turned to his wife.

"Το βρίσκω αυτό το οικόπεδο να απουσιάζει στη νοημοσύνη."

Έτσι έχετε πει. Αντιτίθεμαι στην αναφορά σας σε αυτό ως ένα οικόπεδο, όμως." Elena gave him a reprimanding look that he only recognized from having known her for years. "Αυτό δεν είναι τέτοιο πράγμα, σας διαβεβαιώ."

"Έχετε παντρεμένη με Σλίθεριν. Είμαι πιεσμένοι για να πιστέψει τέτοια ψέματα."

"Έχω τους λόγους μου. Εσείς απλά θα πρέπει να με εμπιστεύονται."

"Είμαι ένα φίδι. Έχω εμπιστοσύνη σε κανέναν."

Elena merely smiled at him, as though she were smiling at a very stupid child, and leaning forward to kiss him gently on the lips. "Back to your dungeons, Φίδι μου. We shall be back in time for dinner."

Severus grunted. "Παρακολουθήστε Πότερ." He turned to his son and gave the boy a warning look that the eleven-year-old only grinned at. "Behave yourself, William." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and, with a glare at Harry and his cloak swirling dramatically behind him, stormed gracefully from the hall.

Harry and Hermione watched Snape sweep from the hall, but Ron's eyes were on Malfoy. This wasn't the first time that the trio had encountered the pale blonde Slytherin. Malfoy had apparently been in the castle since before even Hermione and Ron had arrived, as he was staying with Snape, but they hadn't seen him at all since he had been absent from meals. They walked into the Great Hall for dinner one night to find an extra chair around the table and Draco Malfoy sitting in it.

The three of them had frozen on the spot, but Malfoy had neither looked at them nor spoken a word. He sat between Snape and Conan, and only when he was asked a question by the Potions Master would he nod or shake his head; the boy never spoke and never looked at anyone.

This had been a great change from what the three of them were used to. They had expected Malfoy to sneer and strut around insulting them the moment he was out of sight of any of the teachers who would do anything, but since seeing him at dinner, they had only run into him a few times at Hogwarts, and he never reacted any differently. The three were perplexed.

Of the three of them, Hermione was the most outspoken toward Malfoy, which was surprising considering that she was the one who usually had to bring Ron or Harry back from their fits of rage against the Slytherin. Hermione, however, could only think of all the times that Malfoy had insulted her friends or tried to get them into trouble or called her a Mudblood, and she refused to think that he had changed because he was acting differently. He was a Slytherin – a sneaky snake, just like Snape, who would attack them the moment that their backs were turned. She refused to be a target for him, and she wouldn't let her guard down. She didn't trust him in the least.

"Good morning," Elena said, smiling at the three of them.

Hermione and Ron greeted her back politely, while Harry nodded. The three of them kept straying their gazes toward Malfoy, uncertain.

Elena saw this and spoke up. "I know you were told that I need to take Conan to pick up his school supplies, but Draco will also need his supplies for this year, and unfortunately, his plans to go with Severus were cancelled. I was sure you wouldn't mind if he came along. You're classmates, after all."

None of them could forget that they were classmates, but that fact didn't make it any easier. Elena's tone was kind, but her words were also firm. It was quite clear that Malfoy would be coming to Diagon Alley with them, like it or not.

"We'll be traveling by Portkey," Elena explained, beginning to walk toward the doors that led outside. The five students followed after.

Conan was nearly skipping in excitement. "We have to go outside of the wards around the school for the Portkey to activate," he explained knowledgably. "Headmaster Dumbledore can make Portkeys that go in and out of Hogwarts, but he's not here right now, and he's the only one who can."

Harry had opened his journal to allow him to see what was being said, and as he read these words, his breath hitched and he dropped the book from his fingers. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed tightly, while Ron picked up the journal and shut it, stuffing it in his own pocket before grabbing Harry's shoulder and squeezing.

Harry knew that Conan was wrong. He knew that Dumbledore wasn't the only one who could make a Portkey that allowed travel directly from Hogwarts. After all, he had been one of the travelers on such a Portkey – one of two travelers, who took the Tri-Wizard Tournament trophy in their hands and was whisked away to a graveyard, where the other trophy's traveler was murdered in front of his eyes. It was possible for someone other than Dumbledore to make a Portkey leaving Hogwarts. Of course there was.

If anyone spoke on the walk to Hogsmeade, Harry didn't know of it. He kept his head down, eyes shut, and concentrated on the pressure in his left hand and right shoulder. Hermione and Ron had refused to let go of him, and he was grateful for their support. They had known instantly that he needed them.

"All right, here we are." Elena pulled a thick tome from the bag at her side and opened it so she had a hand under one cover, and Conan came over and put his hand under the other, so they both held the book aloft. "One to each corner," she instructed, and didn't say anything as Hermione guided Harry's left hand to the bottom right corner. She gripped the bottom left corner and glared at Draco as he gripped the top left. Ron, standing between Conan and Harry, gripped the top right corner.

"We're all ready, then? Miss Granger, who wrote _The Three Musketeers_?"

Hermione looked at the Greek woman in confusion for the question, but obediently answered her. "Alexander Dumas." Despite having a hold of a Portkey, the jerk behind her navel was completely unexpected.

* * *

They landed in the center of a crowded street, Harry and Ron both hitting the ground on their backs. Hermione stumbled slightly but managed to keep her balance, while Malfoy, Elena, and Conan stood perfectly still.

"Very good, Miss Granger," Elena said, closing the book. Hermione caught a glimpse at the cover as she was slipping it into her bag. It was written in Greek, but she was able to recognize the image of four musketeers on the front of the tome.

"Are Portkeys different in Greece?" she couldn't help but ask? Ron was helping a shivering Harry to his feet, and Hermione grabbed his hand as he stood up. He sighed in relief and seemed to relax.

"We have Portkeys that can be made and activated just as in Britain, but there are also other ways of doing things. Often, these are the older ways that stretch back through tradition. The Portkey that I just used is often referred to as a TomeKey. It allows for only six people to travel at a time, due to the fact that one person must hold on to each corner, and then two can be split between the covers, as with Conan and I."

"Is there a benefit with using one over the other?"

Conan's giggle interrupted the answer his mother was about to give and she smiled at him. "Why don't you tell her, Conan?"

The younger boy grinned. "Have you read _The Three Musketeers_?" he asked.

Perplexed by a question that didn't seem to have any merit in the conversation, Hermione still needed. "Yes, of course, it's a classic."

"Have you read it in _Greek_?" Conan asked, and his grin got still wider.

"No, I can't read—" Hermione stopped speaking, her eyes widening suddenly. Harry looked at her in alarm. Hermione squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I can remember the words… in Greek." She looked up, wide eyes meeting Elena's amused ones. "I don't speak Greek. I've only just heard it spoken this year."

"TomeKeys let you read books really fast!" Conan declared excitedly.

Elena smiled at his enthusiasm. "It's an ancient version of Wizarding travel from which the Portkey spell was created. It was used when time was short but someone needed to learn a lot of material. It's unknown if it was created initially for purposes of court or theatre."

"Why would anyone want to create the Portkey spell from that? The TomeKey seems to be a perfect version."

Elena smiled. "While I would agree with you, the Portkey was created specifically for travel, when the learning of material was unnecessary. It might seem like a loss, but a Portkey is much faster. The TomeKey actually takes thirty minutes to send someone to their destination." Hermione's stunned look had the woman grinning. "It's eleven thirty in the morning."

"Can we use a different TomeKey to get back to Hogwarts?"

Ron groaned. "Like you need any help learning the material."

"Come on, Ron – you've just read an entire novel in another language!"

"Yes, and it's all Greek to me," he groused. He flicked his eyes to Hermione's. She was giving him a deeply considering look. "What?"

"Nothing," she said. "I thought you meant something different, but—nevermind." She turned back to Elena and couldn't resist bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Can we?"

Elena laughed. "I don't see why not, but you'll have to all agree on the book." She turned around to find Conan and saw him grinning. There was no doubt in her mind that he was excited at the possibility of "reading" a fifth year text while taking the TomeKey.

"Can I get my wand first, Mum?" Conan asked excitedly.

Elena turned back to the others. "I'm going to take Conan off to get his things. You four can go together to get your things, and we'll all meet at Madam Malkin's to fetch our robes at two o'clock. Does that sound all right to everyon?."

Harry was looking at Ron, who nodded, and he followed suit. Malfoy caught Elena looking in his direction and gave an almost imperceptible nod, but Hermione was biting her lip. "I was wondering if I might be able to come with you, Miss Morely?"

"Just Elena's fine, dear," she replied quietly, "and why would you want to come with me? I'll be going around to fetch Conan all his first year things."

"I have a lot of questions about the way the Wizarding World works in other countries, and as you're from Greece, I was wondering if you would mind if I asked you about how that was different from Britain? And maybe you could tell me how to make a TomeKey, because they're amazing and I would love to be able to make them myself, and are there any other types of travel magic that allow us to gather information at the same time?"

By the end of the long-winded explanation, Ron was snickering, and Elena was laughing outright. "Very well. I would be more than happy to explain to you about how the Wizarding World works in Greece. It's wonderful to meet people who are interested in that sort of thing. So long as you're okay with this, Conan."

The younger boy nodded enthusiastically. Of course he was okay with it! Here was a fifth year who loved to learn as much as he did, and maybe she wouldn't mind if Conan asked her some questions, too!

"All right, then I'll take Hermione and Conan with me. You three stay together, and we'll meet up at Madam Malkin's at two."

Elena left with Hermione already prattling off a series of questions, and Ron and Harry were left standing opposite Malfoy, looking at him suspiciously.

"Right," Ron said suddenly. "We're stuck together, so we might as well get this done quick. You don't give us trouble and we won't cause any for you, all right, Malfoy?"

The pale boy's grey eyes flicked upward briefly and he nodded the smallest of nods. Harry and Ron returned it. "All right, then. Let's go to Gringott's. Then we can get the bloody Potions shit done first."

* * *

Conan was holding the box containing his wand like it was a prized golden calf. Swishy willow with a unicorn tail core, it was longer than his forearm but felt _perfect_ in his hand. It'd shot out green and blue sparkles when he waved it through the air, and he couldn't wait to tell his Dad. Slytherin in his colors! His father would be so proud!

"Conan?" The younger boy looked back at Hermione, smiling. She had managed to stop talking in Ollivander's, partly, Conan thought, because the wandmaker was so creepy. During their walk here, however, she had constantly been asking Elena questions, though his mum had allowed him to answer a few, as well. "Why did Snape call you William?"

Conan ignored the fact that Hermione had called his dad by his surname. "William's my middle name," he explained quietly. "Mum can use my given name, because everyone knows she's my mum, but Dad has to keep it secret, so when he's talking to his _son_, his son is _William_. If he addressed me as a student, he could call me Conan, but he won't. Dad doesn't use first names very often."

Hermione stored the last part of that away for thought later. "Is there some sort of spell on you?"

Conan frowned and then looked at Elena. "Of a sort," the woman explained quietly, running a hand over her son's hair. "My husband and I are not married." She smiled softly at Hermione's confused look. "I can call him my husband because we're bonded – it's an older style of marital status not recognized in Britain except by the older pureblood families, those known as the Ancient and Noble Houses. Because of this, we can be bonded without people recognizing that we are, while if we brought it to the attention of others, at least in other countries, it would be treated the same as a marriage, or in some cases, as even deeper than marriage.

"Had we gotten married, it would have been recorded, and this would have put Conan and I in more danger than my husband would allow with his job. Once his duties are completed and we are all free, he and I will be married, and we'll be able to live our lives without worrying about the repercussions that we can't avoid at this moment."

"My dad's very brave," Conan said solemnly.

Hermione looked down at him, surprised to find that the excited little boy had been replaced by an eleven year old young man who at least had a very good idea of what his father did.

"Yes, I suppose he is."

They walked in silence for a while, before Conan abruptly said, "My parents named me after Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Have you read _The Hound of the Baskervilles_?"

* * *

Ron and Harry were stepping out of the Magical Menagerie when someone wrapped an arm around Ron's neck and began choking him.

He let out a yell, muffled by someone's arm squashed over his mouth, and felt a fist descend on his head, drilling into his skull. "Ickle Ronniekins, we never knew you had it in you!"

"Mum is so proud of her youngest son!"

"Prefect, what an honor!"

"Dumbledore sent a letter."

"Mum was in tears."

"We think you're off the hook for every bad thing you ever did."

"Wrestling a troll."

"Joining an army of giant chessmen."

"Stealing Dad's flying car."

"Sneaking into the Chamber of Secrets."

"Helping free a criminal."

"Helping free a werewolf."

"Becoming a damsel in distress in the Tournament."

"Geroff!" Ron roared, and snapped his teeth in a failed attempt to bite his brother's arm. He straightened when he was released, tugging his shirt down. "I was _not_ a damsel in distress!"

"You're right, of course, dear brother – how rude of us."

"You were a damsel in the Black Lake!"

Ron lunged at them, but Fred, who had made the initial "damsel in distress" comment, drew his wand. "Now, now, dear brother, forgetting something?"

"Bugger," Ron muttered.

"That's right, Ronniekins – we can do magic—"

"Outside of Hogwarts—"

"Not that the rules ever stopped you before." Ginny came up to step between her twins, giving them both looks that demanded they admit it.

"You never let us finish, Gin!"

"Legally!" George said firmly, and then grinned. "Okay, we're done."

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to Ron. "You better hide if you don't want to run into Mum. She didn't know you were coming to Diagon Alley today, but she does now."

"Did she see us?" Ron asked, looking around worriedly. He really didn't want to deal with his mother fawning all over him in public because he was now a Prefect. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with it himself.

"No," Fred said, grinning like a cat.

"We told her," George added, matching his twin's grin.

"We really hope she gets to see you before you go back to Hogwarts."

"We think you deserve all of the attention you can get."

"Arseholes," Ron growled at the both of them, though it didn't appear to faze either one.

"Our little brother's growing up."

"To be just like Percy!"

"Oi, don't even!"

"Shh!" Ginny hissed. "Where have you been so far?"

"Apothecary, Quidditch Through the Ages, Zonko's." He jerked a thumb at the store they just walked out of.

Ginny glanced behind him at the store and the pale young man waiting in the threshold. She turned back to Ron. "You should get your school things before you go wasting time."

"Yes, Mum," Ron said snidely.

Ginny just rolled her eyes at him. "Mum was coming to meet us at the Apothecary, then we're going to Flourish and Blott's. The twins can stall her a bit so you can get your books and get out of there before she comes in."

Ron looked at his little sister in surprise. "Thanks, Ginny."

"You'll owe me one," she replied, grinning.

"Hey, wait a minute," George said.

"What's all this about the twins stalling Mum?"

"Why aren't _you_ going to be stalling Mum?"

"I'll be with Ron and Harry," Ginny said in a no-nonsense tone. "Tell Mum where I am, and have fun in the Apothecary." She grabbed Harry's hand and without waiting for the twins or Ron to come up with a word of complaint, pulled the raven-haired boy toward the large bookstore. Ron kept close to Harry and, behind him, Malfoy followed.

Once Ginny had gotten far enough away from the twins that she felt safe, she slowed down and let Ron move to walk beside her. "All right, I'm not blind. That bloody ferret is following us. What's his deal?"

Ron was impressed with his sister. Normally she kept a civil tongue in her mouth at home, but then, Mum would wash their mouths out if they didn't. Still, he hadn't expected her to swear, and he hadn't known her nickname for Malfoy.

Ron removed Harry's journal from his pocket and handed it to him. Gratefully, Harry opened it and read over some of what had been said with the twins, and kept moving his eyes to the page so that he could know what Ron and Ginny were talking about.

"He's living at Hogwarts with Snape," Ron said. "I don't know what happened with his parents, but I guess Snape's his guardian now. He doesn't talk to anyone anymore; just nods and shakes his head. He hardly looks at anyone. It's weird."

Ginny narrowed her eyes and looked back at the following boy. He wasn't close enough to be listening in without the aid of magic, and he didn't even look up at her. "Do you think the sneaky bastard is playing you?"

"I always think Snape's playing us," Ron said, causing Ginny to twist her head back to look at him with a grin. "And I think Malfoy's a sneak, too, but… there's something with the way he's acting that's more than just a game to try and put us off-guard. It's too well-done. It's like he's… I dunno…"

"Broken."

"Yeah." Ron frowned. "I don't know what happened, but did you see the scar on his face?"

"No, I didn't." She twisted around to try and see, but Ron elbowed her lightly.

"Don't."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"He keeps his head down, so you're not gonna be able to see it, most likely. We only know about it because we've been running into him at Hogwarts the last few weeks. Just leave him alone, Ginny."

"Are you honestly protecting the ferret?"

"I am not."

"Good, then." Ginny let go of Harry's hand and turned on her heel, storming back toward the blonde haired youth. He apparently caught sight of her coming, because he stopped abruptly and she walked right up to him.

"All right, ferret, out with it." Draco didn't say anything, but his shoulders rose a little, as though he were trying to protect himself. "You've never made it a secret that you hate my family, and this is the first time I've ever run into you without an insult coming out of your mouth, so don't stop now, ferret; I might miss the attention."

He still didn't say anything, so Ginny stomped her foot and was about to yell at him, when Ron hissed, "Malfoy."

Ginny turned around at the strange tone, and Draco raised his head slightly. What he saw made him twitch in terror, and freeze up.

Lucius Malfoy was walking with swift determination down the center of Diagon Alley, his robes billowing behind him and his long locks of platinum hair falling in perfect place on his shoulders. He was headed toward Flourish and Blotts, and only the fact that the four of them hadn't yet reached the store had kept them from being seen.

"Oh, look, ferret, there's your daddy now." Ginny turned to look at the boy, only to frown upon seeing his face. He was paler than usual, which was definitely saying something. "Malfoy?"

Ron and Harry turned to look at Draco, as well, but it was Ron who moved first. He stepped forward, nudging Ginny away, and grabbed the wide-eyed boy by the arm. "Come on, Malfoy. Move." He pulled on the boy's arm and the Slytherin followed without complaint, letting Ron drag him away from the store and into a small space between two shops. The four of them moved halfway back the alleyway, until they were far enough back that they were sure they wouldn't be seen in the darkness, before watching Lucius Malfoy continue down the street.

Ron could feel Draco quivering under his arm, but he didn't let go. Instead, he looked at the pale boy's face, and the blinded eye over which there was a long, evil-looking gash that would never heal. He spoke without thinking.

"Did your dad do that to you?"

Draco stiffened at the words, and looked down, ashamed. He didn't say anything to confirm or deny Ron's question, but that motion had been enough. Ron's grip tightened just slightly on the other boy's arm, and he spoke in a firm tone that was not to be argued with.

"Your dad's a bloody tosser."

Draco didn't say anything, but he couldn't disagree with the redhead.

"How long do you think he'll be in there?" Ginny asked. She wasn't quite sure what had just happened between her brother and the ferret, but Ron had yet to release the boy's arm, so she decided to postpone further antagonizing the other boy.

"I dunno," Ron muttered. "I really don't want to go in there if that git's gonna be there." It went without saying that Draco didn't want to encounter his father.

The scratching of a quill had Ron and Ginny looking over at Harry, and he held up his journal. The handwriting writing was sloppy, there not being anything for him to lay the book on, but the words were legible.

"_I'll go and get them." _

"I'll go, too, Harry. You shouldn't go in there alone if that arsehole's in there. Especially if you can't talk." Harry shrugged one shoulder. "I need to get my schoolbooks, anyway." She turned to her brother. "Do you have any money for your books?"

Harry saw Draco reach for his money pouch and scribbled a quick message.

"_I'll get them. Pay me back." _

That halted Ron's hand, too, but his ears burned. "Harry…"

"_Really don't want to deal with Lucius Malfoy. Let me." _

"Fine!" Ron snapped. "But I'm paying you back this time. No leprechaun gold." He muttered a few curse words, crossing his arms over his chest. He ignored Harry's grin before the boy tucked away his journal and turned to leave the alleyway.

Ginny followed him and grabbed his hand as they headed toward Flourish and Blotts. Since he couldn't hear where she was, Harry didn't think this was too bad of an idea, but his cheeks did warm just a little. He'd never held a girl's hand in public before, even if it was his best friend's little sister.

Ginny maneuvered through the crowd of people in the store with Harry right behind her, connected at their hands. She walked up to the clerk's desk and Ginny spoke with him quickly. Harry couldn't see what she was saying, but was pretty sure she was ordering all four book orders. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his money pouch.

A sharp rap on his shoulder and Harry found himself being spun around and shoved back into the clerk's desk. He stared up into the face of Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived." He tugged on his cane and the silver head of it jerked sharply into Harry's shoulder. He smiled darkly. "I daresay I know someone who would be just _thrilled_ to see you, Potter. Perhaps I should take you to meet them."

"Get off him!"

Lucius turned to see the smallest Weasley brat with her wand out and pointed at his face. His eyebrow rose and he grinned at her. "Really, now? Do you honestly think a little Mudblood-loving fourth year could do me any harm? Just try and I'll have that wand of yours snapped in half and see your family on the streets. Takes a lot to feed a family as fat as yours, doesn't it? How well do you think you'd do with your father out of a job?"

The sharp end of a stick stabbed him in the side, and Lucius turned back, surprised, to lay his eyes on Harry. The emerald eyes were narrowed into slits and the younger man gave him a look that clearly said, "I just dueled your Master and lived. Want to see how good I am?"

The idea of being beaten by a fifth year child was ludicrous, but there were other things that could handle Potter without him needing to waste his time. His Mark twinged, and he knew it was time to go.

"I'll see you out like your parents yet, Potter," Lucius hissed, and shoved the boy back into the counter as he turned and strolled from the store.

Harry rubbed his shoulder as he turned around. He narrowed his eyes when he saw the shopkeeper standing there with a pile of books in his hands, looking down at the floor and clearly ignoring what had been happening in front of him.

He took out his money bag and tried very hard not to slam it on the counter. By the man's slight flinch, he figured he must have failed.

The shopkeeper totaled up the cost of the books and Harry paid him, while Ginny had the man shrink the books so they could stuff them in their pockets. Harry was so annoyed at the shopkeeper and Malfoy that he was chilled, his body covered in goosebumps. He looked over to see if Ginny was ready, only to see her breath as she exhaled. He frowned, and then his eyes widened as the distant sound of a scream rippled through his mind.

Dementors!

* * *

Ron and Draco were watching the street when they saw Lucius Malfoy storm from Flourish and Blotts. The man looked angry, but he didn't spare any time looking around. Once he'd made it out into the street, his disapparated, and Ron felt Draco relax beside him.

That lasted only a moment before the cold set in.

Ron recognized the sensation from the train ride in third year. It was something he would never be able to forget. Beside him, Draco started shivering, and Ron wondered briefly if it was from the cold, or if memories would permeate his mind like they did Harry's.

Ron felt miserable. A wave of frozen depression settled over his mind. He tried to think about Harry's stag patronus, but the cold misery that settled over him washed it awat. He felt the ground beneath his knees, and a burning, pushing sensation in his throat, like he wanted to be sick. The cold and misery pounded against his back and he felt the ground slam hard against his chest as he collapsed. He didn't have the energy to be sick.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see dark blurs of ragged cloaks swimming through the air. How many dementors were in Diagon Alley, he couldn't be sure, but even through the haze of sorrow, the screams reached his ears. Even through a fog of emptiness, he heard a familiar voice cry out, "Harry!"

Ron lifted his head with difficulty, his eyes seeking out the girl he had heard screaming. Harry was lying on the ground just outside of Flourish and Blotts, with dementors swooping down at him, sucking at the air around him with lungs that squealed in relish. Ginny stood weakly in front of him, wand raised as though she had planned to cast a spell against the dementors, but now couldn't recall the spell. And the dementors swooped down at her, too, making her legs shake and her already pale face drain of color as they sucked at the air around her.

Ron grit his teeth together, as Ginny's knees hit the ground. As the next dementor swooped down at them, Ron surged to his feet on pure rage, roaring like a wild animal.

"Get away from my sister!"

Charging forward, leaping, Ron hit the dementor hard, scrabbling for a hold at whatever lay beneath the ragged cloak the creature wore.

There was a shrieking cry from the dementor, and then Ron screamed as his arms began to burn. The dementor tried to swoop away, twisting, and Ron fell from where he had been clutching the dementor, dragging the cloak with him. Ron hit the ground and curled into a ball, clutching his arms as tears rolled down his cheeks.

The dementor let out a foul hiss, like steam rolling off suddenly-soaked hot coals. There was a flash of rotting, grey leather and hazy white orbs, and then the spinning form of a black cloak, and the dementor that had been unmasked, however briefly, fled, leaving the scene to his brothers.

* * *

Elena was standing in the Apothecary watching Conan run around looking at everything and trying to name it before reading the label. Her son didn't like Potions, which was always a matter of some aggravation when it came to Severus, but the boy was determined to please his father. The fact that he had appropriately named nearly fifty ingredients so far had him pleased to burst, and Elena knew that Severus would be proud of him. He would be proud of Conan if the boy could name only five, though he would have bemoaned his horrible skills as a Potions Master while the young boy giggled profusely. The image made Elena smile.

That smile faded from her lips as the cold sensation fell over her, goosebumps rippling up her arms. She saw Hermione by the shopkeeper's desk spin around, gasping, her breath coming from her mouth in a visible cloud.

"Elena!" the girl cried.

But Elena already knew. She was not unfamiliar with the feeling the Dementors forced upon people, though she desperately wished she was. Moving forward, she grabbed Conan's arm and pulled him to her.

"Mum—"

"Hush, Conan," she whispered, pulling him with her toward Hermione. "Get behind the counter, both of you." Hermione grabbed Conan's hand and the two moved behind the clerk's counter, ducking down beneath it. It wouldn't keep the Dementors from knowing the two of them were there, but even a small shield could change the way things went.

Elena brandished her wand before her, calling out a spell Hermione had heard a number of times before, but had never been able to perform herself. "Expecto Patronum!"

Peeking over the top of the counter, Hermione saw the silver cloud issue from Elena's wand, forming into an animal that snapped long jaws toward the door.

The door burst open and a ragged-cloaked form rushed in, swooping toward Elena.

The crocodile moved faster than Hermione would have though such a large animal could. It nearly swam across the floor, legs moving swiftly, tail whipping back and forth, snapping teeth at the Dementor.

Screeching, the Dementor retreated from the Patronus and swooped out of the store, back into the alley. Hermione could hear screams over the dull wave of depression that settled down on her shoulders. She tried to think of something happy, but nothing came to mind. All she could think about were her friends, and a stag Patronus that wouldn't appear with its wizard unable to speak the incantation.

* * *

The air around him was cold, but Harry had sunk beneath the consciousness that allowed him to recognize this. He was somewhere else entirely. He was being held in someone's arms, safe and at home, surrounded by pale flesh and fiery red hair. The arms around him tightened, however, and he could feel the terror that came with the sensation as someone other than the woman that held him spoke quickly.

"Lily, he's here! Take Harry and go! I'll hold him off."

They were moving away from the other, and Harry felt himself bouncing lightly in the arms that held him tightly. The house around him was blurry and indistinct, immaterial to such a young mind. A door shut behind them and he was released from the arms that held him, placed in a crib. He wanted back in that embrace, back where he was safe, but the woman had turned away from him and was brandishing a wand at the door they had passed through, casting spells quickly with words spoken under her breath.

Whatever she had been doing, it failed. A moment later, the door exploded open to reveal a tall, imposing figure. Dark hair and eyes that seemed to glimmer crimson, Lord Voldemort's wand was twisted and warped.

"James," the woman whispered brokenly, but refused to run from the dark wizard standing before her. He glanced back down the hall lazily, as though looking for her husband, and then smiled at her.

"I've no use for you, Mudblood. Give me the child."

"No. Not Harry." The woman shook her head desperately back and forth. "Please, not Harry. Take me." She fought against the hands of the man as he tried to push her away. "Kill me instead."

"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside now."

"Please, no, not Harry. No!"

Voldemort growled low in his throat and stepped back from the woman. She fell into place protectively in front of the crib, as Voldemort raised his wand.

"As you wish, Mudblood. Avada Kedavra!"

Green light erupted from the end of the wand and struck the woman. She let out a terrified scream and collapsed to the ground.

Harry stared down at the redheaded woman, but there were no tears in his eyes. He could feel the warmth of an embrace around him, and in it he was warm, and safe, and at home, and he wasn't afraid. He stared with deep green eyes at the man in front of him, as Lord Voldemort raised his wand.

"You'll not be around to stop me, Harry Potter. Avada Kedavra!"

The green light flashed sharply, blinding him, and Harry screamed, the memory of his cries as a child merging with his screams as a fifteen year old, lying on the street in Diagon Alley with a Dementor bent down over his body, the great void that was its mouth making gasping, sucking sounds as its face hovered over Harry's.

There was a flash of silver light, and the Dementor jerked back. A howl erupted from down the street and a wolf patronus raced through the air, leaping toward the Dementor with a vengeance.

With a screech, the Dementor turned and fled, chased by the glowing silver canine. Sirius slid down next to Harry, ignoring the fact that he was currently a convicted criminal and anyone who saw him in the alley could identify him. He wrapped an arm under Harry's shoulders and another under his knees, scooping him up into his arms. A series of pops around him alerted him to the arrival of others, and he spotted Dumbledore as the Headmaster moved toward him.

"Sirius," the Headmaster said, handing him a Lemon Drop. "It'll take you to Poppy. Hurry now; the activation's your other name."

Sirius nodded his thanks. "Padfoot." A jerk behind his navel and he and Harry were whisked away.

* * *

The world around him was spinning oddly when Harry felt some semblance of balance return. He was being held tightly against someone's chest, and he could feel them moving beneath him, their chest rising and falling quickly. He felt weary, bogged down in a chasm of despair so deep there was no light to be seen. The darkness and depression around him was a suffocating force, and he struggled to climb out of it as he struggled to draw breath.

"What happened?"

"Dementors attacked Diagon Alley." The chest beneath him rumbled as the person spoke. He knew that voice, didn't he?

"Put him over here. Has he responded yet?"

Harry felt himself lowered onto something soft. "No. We came in by Portkey. He hasn't had any chocolate yet."

"Help me here, Mr. Black."

An arm behind his back lifted him up and something smooth and hard was placed against his lips. Hot liquid filled his mouth and Harry gagged on it, but gentle fingers on his throat massaged his muscles until he swallowed convulsively. Warmth filled his stomach, spreading outward from his center and driving away the chill that had deadened his limbs.

The arm left his shoulders and he sank back into something soft, as something heavy covered him. There was a tingling sensation over his body.

"He'll be fine. The Dementors weakened him severely, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was in here for a few days, but he should recover fully from exposure to them. Rotten creatures."

A hand smoothed his hair back from his head as someone sighed. "I was worried. I remembered when they attacked a few years ago, but I… I never saw him like this."

Voices speaking over each other interrupted whatever the woman might have been about to say, and Harry could only hear bits and pieces of what was being said.

"Dementors in Dia—"

"… thought he was about to—"

"… lucky he wasn't Kissed—"

"… thinking of… separated like that—"

"… some chocolate—"

"You'll be all right, Harry." The hand was still smoothing out his hair, and his godfather's voice in his ear pulled Harry's attention away from the others who had been speaking. He felt himself calm as Sirius' voice began to fill his mind, letting him relax into the hospital bed. "We'll have to make sure you can wandlessly cast the Patronus before you go anywhere again, but Remus said you were incredible at it, so that shouldn't be a problem. I may find some way to get Dumbledore to let me stay here so I never have to leave your side, what with you being determined to scare me like that."

"Sirius? How is he?"

"Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine, Headmaster. It might take a few days, though. I was just telling him I may never leave him alone, though."

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to remain, Sirius, and you know that. Molly and Arthur are coming in to see their children, so I think it would be wise for you to leave."

Sirius sighed. "You know, I think there's something to be said about one family being viewed as more important than another."

"I am sorry, Sirius."

"Yes. You've said that." Sirius didn't sound as though he believed a bit of it. "Of course, I suppose it matters less that I'm here, since my godson can't hear me, doesn't it?"

He couldn't hear Sirius? Oh, that's right… he couldn't hear…

The silence settled over Harry's ears again and, trapped in that void of nothingness, he felt himself floating away.

* * *

**Authors's Note: **Confused? Get used to it. I'm gonna blow your mind.

The discussion which Elena had with Severus in Greek, with the exception of the name by which she referred him in the one sentence spoken otherwise in English, is paragraphically thus:

"I find this plot to be lacking in intelligence."

"So you have said. I object to your referring to it as a plot, however." "This is no such thing, I assure you."

"You have been married to a Slytherin. I am hard-pressed to believe such lies."

"I have my reasons. You will simply have to trust me."

"I am a Snake. I trust no one."

"Watch Potter."

**_The other, far more likely, is that William is his middle name, and his family uses it sometimes. I know a number of people who go by their middle name. Though, that would beg the question - if they use his middle name in private, than why in that scene at home did they refer to him as Conan?_**

I hope the explaination I gave in this chapter answered your question sufficiently; you were, of course, spot on in this presumption. I rather liked reading all of your ideas on it. The split personality one was my favorite. :)

Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free, or even obligated, to grace me with a review. As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _


	18. Into the Realm

**Author's Note: **Supreme thanks to my epic-awesome beta, Elenaiel, for being epic and awesome to the best of her ability.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I'm glad everyone enjoyed it. For those that don't know, I've been taking a short break from writing fanfiction in order to complete my novel. Having passed a milestone recently, I took a couple days and wrote up this chapter for you guys. I know it's short, but it leads into the next group of chapters, which contain the three-way battle for the artifacts. For future reference, if it seems I'm taking a long time to update, I usually have fanfic status up on my profile, or you can pop on over to Formspring and ask me a question (it'll likely get you an answer, and tends to alleviate my boredom when I'm stuck at work).

Next chapter is entitled _The Realm, Part One_. I look forward to seeing you all there! As always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream. _

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XVIII**

**Into the Realm**

* * *

"Oh, Ginny, dear, are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, Mum." Ginny hugged her mother back when the woman squeezed her tightly. "The dementors just made me… it all came back, but I'm okay now. Really."

In truth, the dementors had brought to the forefront of her mind every miserable thought of her first year at Hogwarts. Every moment of doubt, every instance of fear, and the growing comprehension that she had been the one attacking people. It had made her sick with fear all over again, but a little chocolate and a hug from her parents had fixed her up. The only fear she had left now was for the two boys left in the Hospital Wing.

Of their two groups (the Weasleys and those that went to Diagon Alley with Elena), Harry and Ron had suffered the worst from the dementor attack. It was hard to remember what had actually happened, because the dementors had done such a fine job of taking her back into her first year, but Ginny remembered Harry collapsing to the ground and twitching, while a dementor leaned over him. The creature had been reaching for its hood with long, scaly fingers, its mouth so close to Harry's…

And then Ron had come leaping out of nowhere, screaming something – Ginny didn't know what. She only remembered the dementor swooping away with a shriek after that, and wizards apparating into Diagon Alley by the dozens.

She had briefly seen Sirius, and watched him whisk Harry away, before Dumbledore had appeared by her side and used a Portkey to transfer her and Ron to the Hospital Wing. It had all been a blur of movement after that; people coming and going in the Hospital Wing, chocolate being passed around, potions administered, and then her parents appearing.

Ginny was glad her mum and dad were with her, but part of her wished she were still in the Hospital Wing, where she could be near Ron and Harry. She remembered how worried Sirius had looked, but he hadn't stayed with Harry, instead choosing to leave not long after Ginny and Ron had arrived in the Hospital Wing. She wondered where he was now, and if someone was keeping him informed on Harry's condition, and if Harry or Ron's conditions had changed.

She didn't dare mention her thoughts to her mother. Although her father had been angry when they heard about Remus and Sirius disappearing with Harry, her mother had been furious. And Ron, first not telling them his suspicions, and then being so flip with them. Ginny had rarely seen her blow up at her youngest brother like that, but she had held nothing back when it came to ranting about Remus and Sirius being unfit guardians. Ginny couldn't claim to know either Remus or Sirius very well, but she thought her mum was being far too harsh. She wondered if her parents' opinion of Remus and Sirius was what had kept the man from staying with Harry in the infirmary. If it was, that was very unfair.

"Mum, is it okay if I go to bed?"

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Weasley ran her hand over Ginny's hair and smiled down at her slightly. "You lie down and get some rest. Your father and I are going to see how Ron and Harry are doing."

Ginny nodded and got up from the couch she had been sitting on and went up the stairs to the Gryffindor fourth year girl's dormitory. As she stepped inside, she found that the house elves had been busy moving her trunk from the Burrow to Hogwarts, and everything, including her text books, was already at the base of one of the four poster beds.

Ginny sat down on her bed, but she didn't go to sleep. Instead, she opened her trunk and pulled out an old tome she had "borrowed" from the library at Grimmauld Place when she had been trying to find out who Aceso was.

Laying back on her pillows, Ginny opened her copy of _The Ageless Arte of Borrowing Magick._

* * *

"_Frostbite_?"

"That is what Poppy has discovered is causing young Mister Weasley so much pain," Dumbledore commented lightly. It was clear he was trying to use his easy tone of voice to reassure Molly Weasley that her son was in no great danger, but he might have known it wouldn't be that simple.

"How in the world did Ronald manage to get _f__rostbite_ on both of his arms?"

"I daresay it's an unusual occurrence," Dumbledore said, and glanced toward Madam Pomfrey's office. "Poppy has informed me that she detected no magical residue from a curse, and that this is easily taken care of with a salve that Severus is currently finishing brewing as we speak."

"But how do you explain something like this, Dumbledore?" Arthur asked, putting an arm around his wife to try and calm her.

"I would like to give you a simple explanation, Arthur, but I was not present in Diagon Alley when this occurred, and Elena was not with the boys when the dementors attacked."

Molly Weasley opened her mouth, surely to say something about that, but Arthur squeezed his arm around her and quickly said, "Well, of course, none of us were expecting an attack. Fred and George were running around, as well. I suppose we're lucky they were in Zonko's and away from the initial attack, or we might have had two more boys in here."

His words seemed to have taken Molly's thoughts elsewhere and the woman shuddered slightly at the thought of more of her children being in the infirmary because of those _wretched _creatures.

"How in the world, though… dementors in Diagon Alley?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I haven't the faintest idea, Arthur. I've made some inquiries with some friends at the Ministry, but as of yet, I've received nothing to tell us how they managed to get there."

"It'll be in the papers."

"Oh, yes. I imagine the press has its hands full at the moment, preparing for tomorrow's edition of the _Daily Prophet_. I'm afraid we will have to consider the consequences this will have on those returning to the school. There are students who still need to buy their things."

"Yes. We need to get the rest of everyone's school supplies," Arthur noted, glancing toward the beds where his son and Harry were sleeping.

"I'm afraid I've gone and gotten ahead of myself in that regard," Dumbledore said, and though his words suggested it, the Headmaster sounded anything but sheepish. "You see, I was already in Diagon Alley, searching for anything that might suggest the reasons for the attack there, and I got it into my head to get the rest of the supplies young misters and miss Weasley, and mister Potter needed."

Arthur and Molly both looked startled by this, but Arthur managed to stammer, his ears beginning to turn red. "He-headmaster, you didn't have to—"

"I'm afraid it's an old man's folly. When I get these ideas in my head, I simply can't shake them. I suppose it's a sign of old age, but there's little to be done about it. The shopkeepers in Diagon Alley do have a no return policy, and I'd hate for these supplies to go to waste, so I'm afraid I'll have to ask your children to take them off my hands for me. I've had Minerva package them for me, and she'll be delivering them to everyone's room tomorrow morning."

Molly and Arthur looked like they wanted to argue, but were a little afraid to, and so didn't know what to say. Dumbledore, for his part, looked completely oblivious to their predicament and was gaily studying a bird fluttering outside of the Infirmary windows.

"I suppose… thank you, Headmaster."

"No, Arthur, Molly, thank you. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have people like you to take these things off my hands. Why, my office would be even more cluttered than it is at the moment, and I can't help but think I'm already testing the weight limits of the tower's floor…"

The sound of the Headmaster's voice eventually faded away like the footsteps moving with them, and the sound of a door closing told Ron that he could open his eyes safely, without being seen. Had his brothers been there, he might have made an excuse about not wanting to deal with his mother's fawning over him about his Prefect badge, but only because he was fairly sure that Harry had been unconscious since he arrived and hadn't heard anything his mother had said. He'd rather it stay that way.

Whether he had been conscious and Madam Pomfrey had chosen not to say anything, or if he had been in that halfway state between consciousness and slumber, Ron didn't know. What he did know was that he had heard his mum arguing with his dad about Sirius and Remus. He had heard a good bit of things, actually, some of which didn't make a whole lot of sense to him, like their talking about some sort of potion a bunch of people were taking that night and having Dumbledore oversee. But his mum's rant about Sirius and Remus and what she would do if Sirius dared to show up to see Harry had made him glad that his best friend wasn't awake to hear it. Ron was pretty sure the only reason he hadn't reacted like he had before was because he was just too tired to get worked up about it, and his arms hurt far too much to move.

Frostbite, Madam Pomfrey had said.

Ron looked down at his arms. They looked like he had been cooked over a fire, not frozen. His skin was dark, almost black, bubbled and charred and sick looking. Ron tried not to stare too long, as he imagined he could smell burning flesh (even though that didn't make a bit of sense) and it made his stomach roil. There was a spell surrounding his arms, faintly blue in color. Ron found that he couldn't move his arms and he realized it must be some kind of stasis spell Madam Pomfrey was using until Snape was finished making whatever that salve was that he would need.

The Frostbite must have been a result of jumping on that dementor. Ron remembered the pain that had shot through his arms when he'd done it, but he never would have expected to get Frostbite from it. What exactly _were_ the dementors that they could cause that kind of reaction?

"_A mystery for another time, my young friend." _

_What? _Ron gasped, as the Hospital Wing around him began to fade. The color of the world around him dissolved, absorbed into the shining brightness that sought to consume him.

"_Be not afraid, my chosen. Only seek that which you have been called to seek."_

"Turris…"

* * *

"_Come, my chosen, it is time, to fall into a world divine. Follow me to the Realm of Dreams, and seek and find by any means that which I know your heart desires. Sleep peacefully, as it all transpires…"_

There were nine children who heard these words, echoing in their minds. Nine children, who felt the magic reverberate like a cymbal in their soul, and drag them down, down, down, into a world of slumber and light.

Lying in her bed in the fourth year Gryffindor girl's dormitory, Ginny's hand slipped on the pages of _The Ageless Arte of Borrowing Magick_, and she blinked sleepily. Beneath her cheek, a page displayed a young witch with wand held aloft. The woman pointed her wand at the sky and shouted mutely at the sky, as a stream of magic swirled downward, coalescing at her wand tip. Behind her, lightning flashed down, lighting up the picture.

Ginny saw none of this display, and after a few moments, the image stopped repeating itself and went still. Ginny Weasley slept on.

Sitting on her bed in the fifth year Gryffindor girl's dormitory, Hermione hugged Crookshank's to her chest tightly, as she thought of Ron and Harry, still in the Infirmary. The large, fluffy cat purred loudly in her arms, and dropped gracefully on his feet when Hermione's grip went slack and she relaxed against the wall. Purring, the half-kneazle circled lazily, before settling down next to the sleeping girl and taking a nap himself.

Fred and George were standing in the secret passage that ran to the back room in Honeydukes, trying to figure out if there was any way for a dementor to use the secret passage to gain access to Hogwarts the way that they were able to get out. Both of them yawned loudly at the same time, but were determined not to fall asleep, just as they had been determined to keep themselves busy in order to avoid worrying about their little brother.

A moment later, Fred collapsed to the ground, and George fell on top of them. George grumbled lightly under his breath, and Fred let out a great snore.

Draco, for all his great talk about being better than Potter, especially during third year after the dementors attacked the train, had no idea what to do with himself now that he was alone in the Slytherin Common Room. Potter was in the Infirmary due to the dementors, and Weasley… Weasley was there, too, though Draco was still more hung up on the fact that the weasel had been quite decent to him in Diagon Alley. More than decent, in fact.

He didn't have long to ponder this fact. A moment later, a light settled over him and Draco slipped sideways off the arm he had been sitting on and collapsed onto the couch cushions, fast asleep.

Neville was smiling to himself as he knelt in front of one of the newest additions to his greenhouse. The small plant had thin, tentacle-like vines that waved aimlessly. They would flower on the Winter Solstice and Neville couldn't wait to see them. For the moment, however, he was gently moving the rich soil with his hands, being sure that the plant was aptly covered.

A wave of drowsiness overcame him and Neville yawned widely. He briefly wondered if the soporific effects of the plant were actually active beyond its flowering stage, but hadn't time to consider it further, before he let out a loud snore and fell back on the grassy floor.

Lying on her back in the middle of a field, Luna smiled absently at the darkening sky. Around her, she could hear the wind blowing, birds chirping, and a soft chanting, echoing with the power of multiple voices speaking at once.

Luna let out a soft, happy laugh, and slipped off to sleep.

Lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing, Harry distantly felt his body take on a weightlessness, and then a bright light lit up his vision. A moment later, it faded, and Harry found himself standing in a circle of nine people. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Fred, George, Luna, and Malfoy all looked as confused as he did.

"_The hunt… begins." _


	19. The Realm, Part One

**Author's Note: **Welcome to the nineteenth chapter of _SFLAD_, the first of five chapters concerning The Realm. Chapters 19 through 23 will concern two characters a piece of Harry's crew, as they traverse the Realm, while Chapter 24 will concern the ending result for all three crews. Just so you have something to look forward to.

This is, to date, the longest chapter I have ever written for fanfiction, being twenty-three pages long. My amazon of a beta slaughtered all grammatical and spelling errors, and broke her record time getting the chapter back to me, so thank you, Elenaiel.

Today, I would also like to reccommend the fanfic, _Unspeakable Things_, by Darth Marrs. I just finished reading the completed fic a few days ago, an I enjoyed it immensely.

I look forward to hearing what you all think, so I do hope you'll review. In the case you don't, however, thank you for reading and, as always,

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream._

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XIX**

**The Realm, Part One**

* * *

"Harry?" Ron asked, breaking the circle to move over to his best friend, just as Hermione did the same. "What's going on?"

Harry, his eyes wide in surprise, shook his head. "I – I don't know. But I can hear you."

"And speak," Hermione said, her hand finding his. "I think… I think I fell asleep." She looked around, her eyes taking in the nine of them. "Perhaps we're dreaming?"

"All the same dream?" Neville asked, sounding uncertain and a little frightened at their predicament. He didn't say that he, too, thought that he had fallen asleep before waking up here, and that even though it was unlikely that they were all dreaming the same dream, it did seem like a very dream-like thing to happen.

"_A wise hypothesis, Cor's chosen." _There was a breeze that brushed against their faces, the voice whispering like a song in the air, and they could all tell that there was someone else, a tenth presence, there with them.

Harry, who recognized the voice as belonging to the creature who has spoken to him at times before, tilted his head to the side. His eyes scanned the area around him out of instinct more than any thought to find the creature with his eyes. He'd never been able to before. "Who are you?" he asked, even as the others were still turning their heads, searching for someone they would not find.

"_Who?" _The creature sounded amused. _"You're not asking what?"_

"Would you tell us if we did ask?" Hermione demanded, angry at not having a place to turn her attention to and barely resisting stamping a foot in aggravation.

There was a bright laugh. _"No. You're not ready to know what I am. Not yet. But you will be. Eventually." _The breeze fluttered again. _"As for who I am, that, too, is beyond you for now. You may call me Phoenix, and you may know that I mean only to help you, and to help you help yourselves."_

_And each other,_ Harry thought, his mind finding the memory of his previous conversation with this creature, about the Tree of Bonds.

"_Yes," _the creature said, and Harry knew it was replying to his thoughts. _"In time, you will learn more about me. You may find some answers in your journeys within the Realm, for it is here that I have brought you, to search for your artifacts."_

"You mean _Orbis_, the ring I've been dreaming about?" Ginny asked, clutching her hands together tightly.

"_For you, Ginerva Weasley, yes – _Orbis_ is the artifact you are meant to seek. Harry Potter will seek _Lapis Verim_, Ron Weasley will seek _Turris_, and Hermione Granger will seek _Cor_. Frederick and George Weasley will seek _Paelius_, Neville Longbottom will seek _Gladius_, and Draco Malfoy will seek _Afa_." _

Ginny glanced over at her friend. "What about Luna?" She stepped over to put her hand on the blonde girl's shoulder. Luna, for her part, did not appear concerned.

"_I did not expect you to be brought here, Luna Lovegood. It was not my intention for you to follow, and I do not know for what reasons those who dwell Below have sent you into this Realm."_

Luna smiled vaguely, her eyes focused upon some point in midair that held nothing the others could see. "I must be here for some reason," she said sagely.

"_Indeed. You are welcome to stay, and seek what you will. Each of you has your duty to perform, your artifact to find, but it is not only you who seek them. The Dark Lord Voldemort, too, has sent out his seven followers to find the artifacts, as well as Albus Dumbledore."_

"Dumbledore's looking for the artifacts?" Ron asked loudly.

"_He has sent seven of his own chosen to find them, but he himself has not come. He knows that the Dark Lord Voldemort seeks these artifacts and wishes to keep them from him, but those he has chosen do not have the strength to stand alone against this monster. This is why I have chosen you, for the artifacts call out to you. I hear them, as you each must surely hear them." _

Ginny found herself nodding absently. In her mind, there was a gentle ringing, like bells tingling just beyond the reach of her conscious senses, drawing her in another direction. She wanted desperately to follow. As she looked around, she found that the others were nodding, as well.

"_Seven days is the limit in which these artifacts must be found, but each moment that passes in which you have not claimed them is a moment in which they may be claimed by another. I have two gifts for you, to aid you in your quest to find these artifacts. The first is the gift of time: as you sleep, you will be brought here, into the Realm of Dreams, where you will search. When you awaken from your sleep, I will seal off the Realm from those who also seek these artifacts, though they will not be aware of such a thing. They will only be able to seek when you seek. _

"_My other gift is the gift of anonymity. Although you will undoubtedly confront the others who seek your artifact, and you will know them when you see them, you will be hidden from their eyes. Although they will know you are there and see you as an opponent in their search, your face will be dark to them and they will not know your name. _

"_This is all that I can give you. All the rest – the strength, the will, the wits – must come from you as you seek and battle for your artifact. Good luck, my chosen, and seek swiftly, for time is short."_

There was another breeze, this one more powerful than the last, that blew against their backs and threw their hair into their faces. It was like a farewell, the presence leaving them, until the nine were alone in a world of white.

"Well, that was bloody useful," Ron growled, brushing his hair out of his face. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"We follow the song," Ginny said, as though it were obvious.

"What song?" Neville asked, looking at her curiously.

"Can't you hear your artifact singing to you?" She clutched her hands beneath her chin and her voice came out as a whisper as she spoke again. "I can hear bells."

Neville shook his head. "All I can hear is ringing, like metal hitting something hard, like stone."

"I hear a steady beating," Hermione said, and then her thoughtful expression turned to understanding, "a heartbeat!"

"It sounds like bubbling to me," Fred said, glancing at his twin. "And you, brother?"

"Definitely something brewing," George said, nodding as though they'd had this conversation before.

"I can hear a whipping sound, like something flying through the air." Ron scratched his head. "Broomsticks, maybe?"

"I can hear someone whispering," Harry muttered. "It's too low to make out, but it's obvious they're saying something."

"What do you hear, Draco?"

The others looked at Ron in surprise, though Ginny's eyes had narrowed and she looked pissed off that Ron had even dared to ask the other boy. She didn't say anything, though, and Draco lifted his head slightly to glance at the red-head from under bangs that had begun to grow longer and hide his eyes. Even so, the scar over the one side of his face was quite visible to the other eight around him.

"I don't hear anything," he said, his voice almost too quiet to be heard.

"You mean it's not calling you?" Fred asked, crossing his arms and getting a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Oh, no, it's calling me," Draco said, and shivered slightly. "It's… it's song is a void… a sound of nothing I can hear… very clearly."

There were a series of grimaces all around. No one fancied being in Draco's position and following an empty call to find his artifact.

"We better get moving," Ginny said after a while. "We only have seven days, and who knows how long it will take to find them."

George nodded, looking at his little sister. "We're all going to have to split up. I doubt our artifacts are all sitting cozy some place together, waiting for us."

"Do you think we could find our way back here, to meet up again once we've found them?"

"That's a good idea, Neville," Ron said. "I wonder how, though."

Hermione, meanwhile, pulled out her wand and activated the Point Me spell. "All right, if I follow the direction _Cor_ is calling me to go, it's due South, so to get back to this spot, I'll just have to go North after I've found my artifact." She glanced around at everyone, who all had expectant looks on their faces, as though they thought she had more to say. "What?"

"We're just waiting for the lecture, Hermione. We're know there's one coming up."

"Oh, shut up, Ron."

Ron pulled out his own wand. "Here, let's mark the floor, so we know where this place is and don't walk past it." He pointed his wand at the bare white ground and called, "Incendio!" A blast of flame burst from the tip of his wand and struck the ground, creating a great, sooty black mark. "There we go." He slipped his wand into his sleeve.

"Does everyone know Hermione's Compass spell?"

There was a quick few minutes during which Hermione and Harry taught those who didn't know how to use Hermione's spell, and they all found which direction they needed to be heading in. Some of them were surprised to find that they would be traveling in the same direction.

"We'll probably have to split up after a while," Ron said to Neville. "George was right, I'm sure; our artifacts won't be sitting together."

"Well, thank you, Ronniekins," George preened. "I'm so glad to know you've such faith in my opinion."

"Oh, sod off, George," Ron growled. He looked around at the others. "Is there anything else?"

"I think we're ready," Hermione said, after a moment of no one saying anything. "If we don't meet back up here before we wake up again, we'll get together once we're all at Hogwarts and talk about this." The others all nodded in agreement.

"All right, then," Ron said loudly, as though commanding the lot of them. "Good luck!"

As though it had been choreographed, all nine of them turned at the same time and began following the siren's call of their artifact. Neville and Ron walked side by side, while Ginny headed off, walking in between her two twin brothers. Draco and Harry were both by themselves, walking in opposite directions of one another. Hermione, tucking her wand into her robes, headed South. Luna, who had nowhere that she needed to be, walked alongside the brown-headed girl, smiling vaguely, her wand tucked behind her left ear. Hermione didn't say it, but she was glad for the company.

"Do you suspect that Phoenix might be a Wrackspurt in disguise?"

* * *

Time passed. It passed, but it did not seem to pass correctly; not for the eight who sought the artifacts. As they slept, they searched the Realm for the stone that called to them, wandering deeper and deeper into a world that hadn't contact with another soul in millennia. When they awoke, however, and reentered the realm of the waking, they did not recall their dreams.

And so life went on.

School started two days later and the whole of Hogwarts was once again a gossip mill. Not only was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor a woman chosen by the Minister of Magic himself, but Professor Snape, who took great pains to spend the first day of classes each term making a first year cry, was not present. The man's whereabouts were unknown to the students and, apparently, most of the teachers, though rumors swept through the halls of Hogwarts as the stories about what had happened to him grew wilder and wilder.

The initial thoughts, gleeful or sympathetic (though mostly gleeful), were that he had caught a bad strain of the flu from being down in those cold, damp dungeons. After only a couple of days, they had escalated quickly into the well-known fact that he was in St. Mungo's, recovering from having his spine and ribcage crushed after battling a ferocious, toothless basilisk, attempting to get fresh ingredients for his potions.

Only nine of the students knew what had really happened to Professor Snape. After all, after Ron had caught sight of the greasy-haired professor during his search for _Turris_, he had told the others upon their next meeting in the White Room that Snape must have been one of the ones Dumbledore picked to go after the artifact.

"_Even I can see that was a bad choice," Ron scoffed. "I mean, he's likely to get the artifact and take it to Voldemort himself." _

"_Not if you get it first," Harry pointed out, grinning. _

"_Well, yeah." Ron shrugged importantly. "Of course." _

Unfortunately, as they wandered the halls to their Potions classroom, Ron didn't remember that he knew why Snape was missing. Hermione didn't remember that _Cor's_ song was thundering like hoof beats in her head now, she was so close in the Realm. Harry didn't remember that there was a place he went when he was sleeping where he could hear his friends, and speak to them. None of them remembered that they were growing closer to the new, quiet Draco every time they fell asleep and came to themselves in the White Room, or though, the last time they had awoken within the Realm, Ginny had grabbed Harry's hand.

Here, in the waking world, they only had to worry about classes, avoiding certain Slytherins, the toadish DADA teacher, Umbridge, and not bumping into Ron's still-bandaged arms.

"I wish Miss Morely would stay on as our Potions professor," Ron said, moaning about the surely-upcoming moment in which Snape returned. "I don't know what I'm going to do when he comes back. I may have to beg her to stay."

"I think some of the other Gryffindors have already tried that," Hermione noted, shifting her books in her arms. "Of course, I also think some of them have attempted proposing to her." She rolled her eyes. "Boys."

"Hey!" Ron called, insulted. "We are not _all_ like that, thank you."

"Just make sure it stays that way," Hermione said, and sniffed.

The trio stepped into the dungeon classroom and found their seats. Ron and Harry grabbed a table together, while Hermione found Neville and sat down beside him at the table behind the boys. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Malfoy finding his own seat and felt an irrational flash of worry in her stomach that she quickly quelled. Frowning in confusion, she tried to determine why she would be worried about Malfoy, but it was a worry from another world, in which Draco had begun to grow more and more distant as he sought out _Afa_, the skin around his one good eye darkening, the whites of his eye becoming bloodshot. The boy had begun to look ill, and tired. But this was the real world, where one only traveled through dreams when they slept, and Hermione didn't remember Draco as Draco. In her mind, he was Malfoy, a bigot and a bully, and so she pushed the feeling of worry away.

It was further driven away when the classroom door slammed shut and, in a whirl of black cloth, Professor Snape strode to the fore of the classroom.

"I'll thank you all to cease your speculation as to where I've been these past few days and open your books to page three hundred and forty six. Also, fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Thomas, for that pleasant reenactment to Mr. Finnegan of my so-claimed attempts to gather such rare potions ingredients. I assure you, Mr. Thomas, that Blast-Ended Skrewts do not procreate in such a way. However, if you require further assurances, I am sure that a specimen can be gathered so that you may make the attempt yourself."

The classroom had gone completely silent. With his piercing black eyes, Snape scanned the room for a moment, as though searching for the guilt-ridden souls of those who had done him wrong while he was gone.

"Well? Why aren't your books open yet?"

There was a scramble for their bags and the loud ruffling of papers as everyone opened their books to the assigned page.

"Very well. Today you will be making the Draught of Waking Slumber, and if anyone so much as looks like they're thinking on those rumors, you'll be drinking your sad excuse for a potion and sent back to your dorm to suffer the effects by yourselves. Have I made myself clear?"

* * *

"Bishop to C4!" Ron cried, as he ducked under the swing of a blade, jumping to the barest edge of his black square and cartwheeling his arms to remain within it.

The white bishop walked across white squares diagonally, his legs moving in a casual walk, even as the robed figure gripped the thick tome within his grasp and, reaching his destination, smashed it over the face of the black knight's horse.

The horse whinnied shrilly, rearing and throwing of its rider. The knight, ensconced in shiny black armor, fell with a heavy series of clangs as his armor struck the stone floor. His horse, a great black stallion with pure white eyes, galloped away with a cry, leaving its rider behind. The rider, for his part, had been defeated and so was not permitted to even remove himself from the board. The bishop did this for him, holding the great tome in one hand and sweeping the other through the air in a gesture that sent the grounded knight flying off the side of the great chessboard. The bishop settled into place where he had previously been laying.

Ron, yelling, dropped to the ground and threw his hands over his head to avoid the sharp, diamond-like hooves of a rearing horse. As he was cowering down, there was a sharp zap as the one bishop behind him hit him in the rear with a sparking spell. Swatting his bum, he grabbed his wand from his pocket and sent a blasting hex in the direction of the robed chess piece. The hex sent the bishop's tome flying, but did nothing to destroy it, and the piece merely moved off to retrieve it.

"This is getting ridiculous!" Ron yelled, scanning the chess board to see where his opponent had moved off to. "Rook to—YAH!" He barely ducked the sword swung at his head. "Take out the opposing rook!"

Thankfully, the white tower slid forward across the board until it crashed bodily into the great black tower opposite it, sending the piece crumbling, stone by stone, to the ground.

Ron, who was having a hard to finding places to dodge to, was left focusing on the white knight attacking him as his opponent made another move.

It had taken him three days to reach the giant chess board he was at now, and he had reached it at the same time as one of the other Chosen. Luckily for Ron, the man had no idea who he was (and because of that, assumed that Ron didn't know who he was either, which was partially true). Although Ron couldn't put a name to the man's face, the cut and dye of the man's robes gave him away, as well as the fact that Ron had spotted Snape the day before and only managed to slip through _Turris'_ defenses just before the Potion's Master. Snape was undoubtedly Dumbledore's Chosen to hunt down _Turris_. That made this man's Voldemort's.

And whoever this man was, he was horrible at Chess.

But the game itself wasn't the problem, oh no. Ron had only so far lost a couple pawns, and Bishop and one Knight – the same Bishop and Knight, in fact, that were currently attacking him.

The pawns themselves seemed to remain defeated upon being… defeated, or at least they were used to their roles as, quite often, sacrificial pieces and had no qualms with the one directing them to that fate. The higher pieces, however, had qualms.

Not long after having sacrificed his Bishop to save his Queen, the Bishop, having been pushed off the side of the board, stood up and shot off a spell at him. When the Knight had fallen, he had begun to do the same thing, only he had a very angry horse and a sword to fight with!

It wouldn't have been as bad if Ron had space to move, but he and his Death Eater opponent had been given a space to stand in to oversee the chess match. It was a small square no larger than those on which his pieces were standing (which were about as large as those that had been on the chess board McGonagall had transfigured to guard the Philosopher's Stone their first year at Hogwarts) and it left very little room to maneuver in while he was trying to avoid getting killed.

It also made it somewhat difficult to see what moves he was able to make while furthering the game without getting his head chopped off, craning his neck to see.

While taking a moment to look and seeing that his opponent had only dared to move a black pawn, the Knight chose to make that very attempt and swung his sword at Ron's unprotected neck.

Jerking away, it came more as an instinct than a thought process to raise his wand and shout "Expelliarmus!" The sword, thankfully and much to Ron's surprise, went flying out of the Knight's reach.

Of course, it came flying directly at Ron and he dropped to the floor with a yell, letting it sail over him. While he was down, however, he was not still, and raised his wand once again, crying "Incendio!" at the Knight. A blast of fire erupted from his wand, consuming Knight and steed, and the stallion reared, shrieking in pain and rage and terror, and threw his rider from his back.

The man turned to ash before he hit the ground, and when he did hit the ground, he scattered like so much dust, and the horse galloped off, tossing its head angrily.

Jumping to his feet (and barely dodged a bolt of fire in the process), Ron scanned the board as quickly as he could. "Queen to E6! Protego!" He threw up a weak, flickering shield, but it managed to hold against the blast of fire. "Expelliarmus!" he yelled, as his Queen walked regally across the board to stand two blocks away from the opposing King.

The Bishop's great tome had flown out of his hands at Ron's disarming spell, but he found the robed figure didn't need it, as it raised both hands high into the air, crackling with blue lightning bolts, and brought them swinging down like swords.

Ron glanced at the chess board in hope and nearly screamed, "Checkmate!"

The Bishop stopped where it stood, lightning fading from view. The robed figure itself fell, like the rest of the chess pieces on either side, into a pile of ash.

Ron sagged to the floor in relief, and woke up.

* * *

"Oh, can't we just go back to our dorms and sleep? We don't really need to go to Charms today."

"Ron! How can you _say_ that?"

"I'm _tired_, Hermione. I feel like I haven't been getting any sleep at all lately."

"Charms are very important."

"So is sleep. It's not like you don't know everything already and can't just let me and Harry copy what you've done."

"You know I won't let you copy my homework, Ron."

Ron sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world were settling firmly on his shoulders. "You torture me, Hermione."

"It's only because she loves you so much, Ron," said Fred, striding down the hall toward his younger brother with George matching his every step. He stopped next to Harry and peered at his younger brother closely. "You look horrible, little brother."

"Like you haven't slept a wink," George said. He had stopped on the other side of Harry and was peering at Ron with the same expression on his face as his twin wore. "Are you all right?"

"Just tired," Ron said, smiling softly. His twin brothers were more often than not a dangerous force to be in the company of passively, and were quite horrible at being serious at the best of times. Being their brother, however, he could recognize the concern that was hidden beneath smiles Hogwarts students everywhere feared, and teasing voices well-known to cause professors to flee.

"_I don't know how you could be," _Harry scribbled in his journal, _"you're usually asleep before I am and wake up after I do." _

"Maybe you're coming down with something," George said, after reading Harry's note along with the others. He looked like he was considering feeling his brother's forehead.

"Keep your hands to yourself," Ron said, reading the intention and making a decisive chopping motion with his arm in his brother's direction. He put his own hand on his forehead, scrunching his bangs up, to test his temperature, even though all of the Weasley children knew well you couldn't test your own temperature that way.

"You should go see Madam Pomfrey if you're not feeling any better tonight. Skive off Defense if you can," Fred suggested, grimacing at the thought of the professor. "Any chance you can get away from that horror, take it."

"Yeah, maybe I'll do that," Ron said.

Hermione bit her lip as though fighting her immediate response to argue against skipping classes. "I'll take good notes for you, if you do," she said finally.

"Don't bother!" Fred called, laughing.

"You'll just end up copying the whole text over for him!" George said, waving as the two continued down the hall.

"See you at lunch!" Fred called, and the two disappeared around a corner.

"Come on," Hermione said, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling him along. "We've got to get to Charms, and _then_ you can think about sleeping."

Ron sighed. "Yes, Hermione."

* * *

When Ron next fell asleep, he awoke in the White Room, as they always did upon entering the Realm, and he found the others there, waiting for him. It had been an unspoken rule among them that they wouldn't leave off to find their individual artifacts until all nine of them were present (Luna had returned each time). Ron was very glad of this, because it was nice to see a friendly face, instead of falling asleep and into the company of a Death Eater.

"How are you guys doing?"

Hermione huffed, looking irritable and as though she had just gotten out of a fight with a very large bird, which had spent much of that time attacking her hair. "The _last_ time we were in here, I had to fight a gryphon! Do you know how fast those creatures are?"

"That's why they're usually used to guard things," Fred commented cheerfully.

"Although we much prefer dragons."

"Personally, we blame that particular preference—"

"—on our brother, Charlie."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hermione admitted, with some reluctance, "Yes, I can see how that would scope your opinion." She tried fixing her hair, which had taken on one of Harry's more memorable attributes of 'all over the place.' "I'm glad, in that case, to have faced a gryphon and not a dragon."

"Gryphons _do_ tend to have a flight based on grace and not speed, like a dragon."

"Though if there _is_ a dragon to defeat, I think Harry would do a nice job of it."

"I didn't defeat the dragon in the TriWizard Tournament. I only outflew it," Harry said, appearing before them all as he fell asleep by fading into view, in such a way that he would have fit right in with the original crew of _Star Trek_.

"Which is something to be proud of!" Ron admitted fervently.

He didn't see Fred and George glance at each other knowingly, or their proud (if highly amused) looks at Hermione and the newly-appeared Draco.

"Dragons have an ability to fly that can't be matched by almost any other creature, due to their high velocity _and_ their ability to make sharp turns in midair when necessary. The fact that they can breathe fire and often have some manner of blunt weapon to contend with as part of their tails (at _least_ their tails) is completely eclipsed by the fact that they can move faster in the air than most muggle creations built for aerial speed and maneuverability."

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, fading into view and looking at her twin brothers as she saw that Hermione, Harry, and Draco were enraptured by whatever Ron was saying, and that Fred and George themselves seemed to be enjoying the show.

"Ron's breaking his mask," George supplied helpfully, smirking in just a little-too-Slytherin of a way for Draco not to notice, even as he was enthralled by what Ron was saying, and revealing about himself.

"Someone brought up dragons—"

"—and you know Ron."

"Couldn't help himself," the two chorused.

Ginny, who knew well Ron's fondness for dragons (excepting Norwegian Ridgebacks – he had never quite gotten over being bitten by Norbert) and his idolism of their brother, Charlie, smiled smugly at watching Ron rant. The most amusing thing, though, was watching Hermione's face, as Ron used words he would have pretended to pick up from her a week ago, had they been working on homework together.

"Think this will stop his stupid pretending?" Ginny asked, looking at her brothers.

The twin boys grinned like Cheshire Cats. "An armload of Zonko's dungbombs says Hermione beats the information out of him."

"Metaphorically or literally?" Ginny asked.

"Either!" George cried, while Fred said, "Both!"

Ginny laughed. "You're on!" And regardless of how they heckled her, refused to tell which of them it was she'd made the deal with.

"Brother mine," Fred said soberly, "I believe we have been duped."

"At least, dear brother, we can pretend we taught her everything she knows."

They might have gone on like that for some time, teasing and ranting and being shocked all in kind, if not for an interruption that came from the Waking World. But Luna disappeared in a flash of light – there one moment and gone. Then Fred and George disappeared together, followed moments later by Hermione, and then Ginny. Then Harry and Ron awoke one after the other.

"What's going on?" Ron garbled, blinking sleep from his eyes. He felt like he'd been interrupted while doing something important.

"Nevermind, Mr. Weasley. Just get up and get into your robes. We're all assembling in the Great Hall."

Grumbling about how there better be breakfast, Ron did as she said, while Minerva McGonagall went over and put her hands on Harry's shoulders. Even though he could not hear her, but knowing that the enchantments on his journal would pick up what she said, she whispered in his ear.

After she had gone from the dormitory, Harry opened his journal. Ron read over his shoulder the words written in McGonagall's familiar sharp-edged script.

"_Stay close to your friends. There's a Death Eater in Hogwarts."_

* * *

When Ron next woke in the White Room, he was alone. He knew he had fallen asleep in the Great Hall, but the others must not have drifted off yet. He considered waiting for them, but the sound of broomsticks rushing through the air, wind whipping around them like a breathy whistle, was loud in his ears. It was so close Ron thought he might turn around and find the source of the noise right behind him.

But no, spinning in a circle showed him nothing but a vast white world devoid of even shadows. Pulling his wand, Ron held it over his open hand. "Point me _Turris_."

The wand spun like a compass needle, before stilling, pointing just slightly to Ron's right. He adjusted he position and began walking, occasionally calling the Point Me spell again.

It took him a surprisingly short time to reach the chess board.

The Death Eater was there, looking through the remains of the fallen chess pieces. Ron slowed his steps, crouching low to the ground so as to hide himself from immediate view. He watched as the Death Eater pushed a Bishop aside and dug through the pieces of rock beneath him where a Rook had crumbled.

Pulling his wand quietly from where he had tucked it in his robes, Ron inched closer to get a better view of the cloaked man.

A piece of rubble rolled under his foot and Ron's ankle turned the wrong way as the stone moved beneath him. He lost his balance, swearing as he dropped. The Death Eater jerked to attention, wand whipping out of his robes. "Stupefy!"

Ron forced his feet beneath him and gasped in pain as he threw himself out of the way of the curse that ripped through the air where his head had been. Across from him, the Death Eater crumbled to the ground, unconscious from Ron's stunner.

Glancing behind him, Ron watched the unfamiliar purple light of the Death Eater's curse just keep going and going through the white world, until it got so far away that Ron's eyes failed him. Turning back around, he crawled onto the chess board and moved around fallen Rooks and the bodies of chessmen, until he'd reached the Death Eater.

He wondered if knocking them out in the Realm of Dreams made them wake up in reality.

Ron plucked the Death Eater's wand from his hand and snapped it in half, before dropping it back on top of his chest. The man continued to breathe deeply, completely unaware.

Ron hoped he woke up in the real world with a broken wand.

Looking around, Ron saw nothing but white in all directions beyond where he stood on the chess board. Wondering what he'd have to deal with next, but glad the Death Eater was out of the picture, Ron placed his own wand on his palm again.

"Point Me _Turris_."

His wand spun and spun in all directions, before spinning right off his hand. Ron grabbed at it and missed, and the wand landed tip-down on a white square of the chess board, and stuck there.

"What the hell?" Ron bent down and grabbed his wand, but when he pulled on it, the entire white block came up with it, leaving a great black nothingness underneath.

And then, as a bridge will crumble when its keystone is removed, the squares of the chess board began to fall into the black hole beneath them.

Ron made a mad lunge toward the edge of the board and fell short, his hands catching nothing but air. His chest hit down on one of the few remaining squares and it dropped beneath him. Ron let out a shriek as he fell down into the darkness, the rest of the squares, and then the border of the board, and then the chessmen all tumbling in after him.

Ron fell and fell and fell, and despite his fear and his screams, he didn't wake up.

* * *

Fred and George were having a few very interesting nights.

They did not remember, exactly, that they spent their evenings while asleep racing through the Realm of Dreams, attempting to find _Paelius_. Of course, they weren't quite as unaware of it as the others were, either. In fact, it was a very interesting effect they seemed to have on one another, when one of them fell asleep and another remained awake.

That is to say, when George, who always had been a deeper sleeper than his brother and could have slept on nails if there wasn't a more comfortable spot available, fell asleep, Fred remained awake, only to find, minutes after his brother drifted off, that he remembered everything about the Realm. Not only that, but in the back of his mind where constantly hummed this _other presence_, a presence which he knew to be his twin, he could barely feel the curiosity and the excitement and the hunting that his brother was feeling and undergoing in the Realm.

And thus, like two children who had found a Rubix cube and were determined to solve it, Fred and George Weasley discovered an aspect to the Realm that they had not anticipated, and they were determined to find its every benefit, surpass its every limitation, and exploit it to the best of their abilities.

And they were quite a talented two.

The first time that they found one of the more exciting things about the Realm was when Fred slept late on their second night in. George had woken up at an early four o'clock, his bladder fit to burst from the hot chocolate he had tossed into a cauldron previously used to brew a cheering potion. Like he and his brother had considering most likely possible, the residue of the cheering potion added its effects to the hot chocolate.

The unexpected benefit was that the drink was slightly thicker than normal. Rather tasty, it was.

But that aside, George got up from the room he shared with Fred and stumbled his way to the bathroom, where he relieved himself with a rather stunning amount of relief. Yawning, and kicking the loo when the vanishing charm on it attempted to fail rather epically, was quite stunned to catch his twin's reflection in the mirror above the sink.

Now, for those of you who know Fred and George, you're no doubt laughing at that very statement, since as twins, the two are naturally reflections of one another. To an outside observer who doesn't know them that well, or who didn't grow up with the twins, this is quite true. For Fred and George themselves, however, they are quite adept at telling the different between the two of them, and if you're not careful, they'll correct you with a prank or two, so watch yourself.

But George could tell the difference between himself and his twin, and it was certainly his twin's reflection he saw in the mirror and not his own. Not only that, but George could also see the creature that his brother was facing. It was a muddy brown lump of a Cerberus, for sure – a great big dog with three giant heads full of snapping jaws that seemed to have been turned into mud and half-melted. Even in a half-formed state, however, the Cerberus was advancing on Fred with disturbing drool-flinging snaps of its huge three mouths.

George didn't know how he could see his brother in the mirror, but he wondered if he couldn't do some sort of spell that would allow him to send something through the looking glass and to his brother. His hand fished around in his pocket and he found a couple of Filibuster's Cherry Crackers – galleon-sized fireworks that looked like slightly enlarged cherries that let off a huge bang when they got wet. George wished he knew how to get them to his brother!

And then, right before his eyes, the Cherry Crackers disappeared from his hand. Moments later, movement in his peripheral vision caused him to look up, and there in the mirror, Fred had a handful of Cherry Crackers. As he watched, the Cerberus lunged closer, jaws open wide.

Fred tossed the handful of firecrackers into the Cerberus' mouth and leapt for safety, dropping to the ground and covering his head with his hands. The Cerberus' mouth snapped shut comically, he tilted his head to the side as there was a faint hissing sound coming from between his teeth, and then all three of his heads exploded.

The muddy remains of the drippy Cerberus melted to the floor in a puddle of steaming goop. George stared into the mirror, eyes wide, and saw his brother sit up and look at the remains of the Mud Cerberus with the same expression. Together, their expressions morphed into identical grins of mischief.

"Wicked."

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a joke.

If Fred and George hadn't known that their uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, had died at the hands of Death Eaters, they would have thought that the class must have been unnecessary, since the Headmaster didn't seem to bother getting competent professors.

Now, Fred and George had a great respect for Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Asides from having the longest name of anyone they knew, the Headmaster of Hogwarts also had a great sense of humor and eyes that sometimes just seemed to go blind when they skirted over one of the twins' in-progress pranks. That is, of course, when the man didn't stop and offer his own suggestions on the project.

Even so, with all the respect they had for the man, they had to admit that he was more than slightly barmy, and that he picked the worst Defense teachers.

"Not including Lupin, of course."

"Of course. Remus is a good chap."

Because, yes, of course the twins were well aware that certain moments of their lives were being narrated by a third party.

Umbridge, however, was probably the worst Defense professor they had ever had, and Fred and George had been in school two years longer than our Golden Trio. They had been present for Professor Rumple, who had short term memory loss and was worse than Professor Binns at knowing students' names, and who often cast the stunning spell when trying to teacher students the tripping hex.

And before that, there was Professor Biggles, the animagus who, when spooked, would transform abruptly into a Scottish terrier and spend ten minutes barking at whoever had frightened him. The most memorable day, of course, had been in the middle of winter, after days of snowball fights outside, when half of the Defense class had the sniffles. Every time someone would sneeze, Professor Biggles would jump in fright and transform, standing on his desk, barking at the student. When he regained control of himself almost ten minutes later, it would not be long before another student would sneeze and the cycle would renew.

Of course, despite the sentimentality of that day, Fred and George still remembered fondly their first major prank of first year, when they had unleashed a series of firecrackers beneath Professor Biggles' chair in the Great Hall during dinner. The Scottish terrier chased a certain startled cat animagus out of the Great Hall and down the main corridor. Their mum was so mad she sent her very first Fred and George-induced Weasley Howler. It was a memory to power a Patronus for sure!

Umbridge topped them all, of course. She was worse than Quirrel, who stuttered something fierce when you didn't know he had a Dark Lord strapped to the back of his head. She topped Lockhart, who might have brought pixies in for the second years to work with, but who informed the fourth years that he had their worst nemesis hidden under a drape, and then removed said drape to display – GASP! – a mirror. Yes, it was terrifying. And after Lupin, who had been awesome even with the werewolf bit, there had been Moody, who wasn't actually Mad-Eye, but even before they'd known that, had been completely terrifying. Casting Unforgivables, and in front of a bunch of kids!

Yes, Umbridge was the worst so far. After all, she had them reading, right out of the book.

"This is so a waste of time," George said, flicking the page in his text and pretending to read while he fiddled with his wand under the desk.

"I think it's a perfectly good idea," Fred argued quietly back, staring down at the pages of his book.

"Yes, well, you're the dumber one of the two of us."

"And you're the uglier one, which is why you're more likely to be assumed the dumber one, and therefore will get off scot free!"

"I still think the firecrackers would have time much more well spent."

"Yes, but how cliché."

"True."

And with that, George made a stabbing motion with his wand, and the desk Umbridge was sitting behind turned into a giant blob of purple gelatin, and ate her.

* * *

The detention had been worth it, of course. The twins walked side by side, gaits matching, following the bubbling sound of their artifact. They had spent their evening scrubbing the floor of the Trophy Room on their hands and knees, and though Filch had been no less a vicious menace than usual, McGonagall had failed to completely hide a smile from the two of them.

Even this soon into the new year, she already despised the Defense teacher.

Most of the school agreed.

"Do you suppose Ron went to Pomfrey?"

"Dunno," George said, walking up a flight of stairs that sat in the middle of nowhere and didn't seem to lead to anything. "Looked a bit down, didn't he?"

"Reckon he's not handling this Realm bit well?"

"Well, it _is_ Ron."

"Too true, brother."

"I suppose by the end of it we'll be tired, as well. Constant state of dreaming and all that. Oi, Fred, there's a door up here."

Fred, who had been wandering around below the stairs to see if there was anything about, raced up them now. He and his twin peered through the door. "Looks like Hogwarts, it does."

"Reckon it isn't, though. About like it was when you faced off against that Mud Cerberus."

"Oi, George, don't remind me. Ruddy beast smelled something fierce." He pushed open the door and stepped inside. "Well, it looks clear for the moment. Let's see if we can find Snape's potion lab."

"I hope there's no nasty monster brewing in one of the cauldrons."

"Nor anything that beast might've been cooking up, either." Fred laughed, and his brother joined him.

"Ah, gentlemen, having fun, I see."

The duo spun around to find Severus Snape standing behind them, only he was a caricature of himself – made completely out of bits and pieces of the things he kept displayed in glass jars around his classroom. One eyes, in fact, was the twitching fetus of a cat, while his tongue was a long, bluish tentacle from some sea-dwelling beast.

The twins looked at each other, screamed, and ran in the opposite direction.

Behind them, Snape laughed and gave chase.

* * *

The news that there was a Death Eater loose in the castle hadn't been taken well by anyone in Gryffindor Tower, and certainly not by the twins, who were the oldest of the Weasleys in the school at the moment and therefore responsible for the rest of their siblings. And, of course, they wouldn't let anything happen to their younger brother or sister, or Harry and Hermione, who were all but family. So naturally, the two of them sought out the other two flaming redheads, and found them, predictably, gathered together with the two brunettes, a blonde-haired Ravenclaw, and Neville Longbottom.

"Well, isn't this exciting!" George declared as he and his brother sauntered closer to the six of them.

"Just another adventure for the Boy-Who-Lived and friends!"

"This is not anything to joke about!" Hermione, of course.

"We're not joking, are we, Gred?"

"Certainly not, Forge. We'd be perfectly Sirius, of course—"

"—if that position wasn't already taken."

"Oh, shut it, both of you." Hermione was wringing her hands together worriedly, and although she was an anxious one, she seemed even more off this evening. Fred and George shared a contemplative look between them.

"Hermione, I'm sure everything's going to be all right," Ginny said, trying to soothe her brother's friend – a girl who she was hoping to get closer to.

"Hermione may be right to be worried," the blonde Ravenclaw said in her distant and blunt way of speaking. "After all, our Houses were all gathered with relative ease, but Gryffindor was the last to arrive and you have been here for a total of twelve minutes and forty-two seconds. Hufflepuff House, however, has yet to arrive, and the Headmaster, Deputy Headmistress, and Head of Hufflepuff are missing. I believe the Prefects are in control. Perhaps we should ask them?"

This was all said rather quickly, though not forcefully, but the slightly-circular, offhand way that the girl spoke caused everyone to have to take a few moments to gather their wits and determine all that they had been told. In that, Harry had a bit of an up on the lot of them, as he was able to read what the girl said in his journal, rather than listen to it.

Fred and George's attention, as well of the rest of them, was caught on Harry when the boy suddenly gasped, before turning and running out of the hall.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, at the same time as Ron said, "What?" Without hesitation, the two raced after their friend.

Neville gaped after the trio, before suddenly crying, "I'll tell a professor!" and rushing off to, presumably, do just that.

Fred and George glanced at the Ravenclaw and Ginny, and then shared a look. They were about to separate, one going after Ron, Harry, and Hermione, with the other staying in the Great Hall. However, at that moment, George's left pocket of his trousers was suddenly dripping wet, and then there was a loud explosion, which blew his clothes right off and left him standing in his skivvies.

In the ensuing laughter and chaos, neither twin noticed Ginny disappear out the doors of the Great Hall.

* * *

Potions didn't require any "foolish wand-waving," and so the fact that George and Fred both had their wands drawn as they stirred a ladle in the large black cauldron was a given that something was wrong. And, indeed, something was, because so far, the Weasley twins had been attacked by a Mud Cerberus, a jigsaw puzzle of a Professor Snape made out of potions ingredients, three different creatures from Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class (including elephant-sized flobberworms that tried to ingest the both of them), and a smiling Professor McGonagall.

The fact that she was wielding Bludgers like Muggle bowling balls with the strength of a Troll was not nearly as frightening as her _smiling_.

And so, Fred and George were locked in Potion Lab 3 with five cauldrons brewing five different potions, waiting for something to come through the door and just _try_ and attack them.

And as it was Fred and George, and as they were anticipating it, of course it happened.

The door was thrown open and slammed loudly into the stone wall. Expecting Jigsaw Snape or Smiling McGonagall, the twins didn't even bother looking before they cast banishing charms on two cauldrons each.

As there were two figures fighting to get through the doorway at the same time, that meant that the Fatiguing Fusion and FungiFace Potion slammed into the tall, lanky figure, while the Shrinking Solution and Dizziness Draught slammed into the short, round figure. Both cloaked people were forced out of the doorway and slammed into the wall beyond.

"You know, that second bloke looked mighty familiar."

"Dung, you think?"

"It did appear." Fred shrugged. "Ah well, he's obviously Dumbledore's." He grabbed a ladle of the fifth and last potion, drawing a portion of the potion out. "You ready, George?"

"Ready, Fred," said George, with his own ladle. Together, they both downed a portion of the potion.

Belching loudly, Fred patted his stomach. "Well, that tasted atrocious going down and coming up." He wiggled his toes inside his shoes. "I don't feel any lighter. How about you, George?"

The potion, which was supposed to make them able to fly, didn't seem to be working for George, either. "You know, I'm feeling a tad fuzzy around the edges. Reckon we messed up somewhere, Fred?"

"Hm… scarab beetles, crushed into find powder?"

"Check."

"Diced caterpillar?"

"Gross, Fred. Check."

"I agree, George. Shredded lacewing flies?"

"Check."

"Sprinkled nettles?"

"Check."

"Salt?"

"For flavor, brother?"

"Of course, brother."

"Check."

"Vinegar?"

"Check."

"Urine?"

"Do I want to know whose?"

"Unicorn piss, actually."

"Oh, well, that's not so bad, then."

"Yes, I hear it's actually good for the digestive system."

"Really? Good to know. Oh, and check, of course."

"Of course. Puffer-fish eyes?"

"Where's that on there?"

"It's on the following page – last ingredient."

"Oh, well… no, actually. I seem to have missed that one."

"Well, we bollocks this one up, didn't we? So, what did we brew, brother?"

"Well, let's see… Wakefulness Potion."

"Well, that's just stu—"

In the seventh year Gryffindor boy's dormitory, Fred and George sat up, completely awake, and stared at each other. Fred looked over his brother with slightly narrowed eyes and grumbled, "Next time, I'll toss in the ingredients and _you_ stir the bleeding cauldron."

"Agreed."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone that reviewed! I very much enjoyed reading what you had to say, and I'm glad that you're enjoying the story. And I apologize for Fred and George breaking the fourth wall. Personally, I think they tested pranks and potions on it until it committed irrational suicide by crumbling.

**Will Dumbledore's crew be in danger since the potion requires them to find the objects within seven days or they die?**

This will be explained, but since it'll be put right out there in a few chapters, I don't mind answering. No, they won't, because Snape fiddled with potion experimentation until he made the potion for Dumbledore's crew safe. Voldemort's, on the other hand, is the original potion, and we've heard the requirements for it. Unfortunately (for our good guys), some of Voldemort's crew are sneaky devils.

**If only the headmaster had consolted the kids about it before audomatically playing chess master again and assigning order members a task that they cannot possibly complete.**

There are a lot of _if onlys_ that go along with the Headmaster, but nobody listens to children.


	20. The Realm, Part Two

**Author's Note: **We've reached the **twentieth **chapter of _SFLAD_! This chapter caused me some problems in the writing, but it's also one of my favorites so far. I'd apologize for the wait, but frankly I think you're all used to it by now. Real life enjoys kicking us all in the ass.

At the moment, this chapter hasn't been beta'd. I wanted to get it all out to you tonight, but when Elenaiel gets to it, I'll make the necessary adjustments.

Today's fanfic recommendation is _Beyond the Veil_, by Atalan, a story which I enjoyed reading very much.

I look forward to hearing what all of you think.

_Live long. Live well. Write._

* * *

**THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH**

**XX**

**The Realm, Part Two**

* * *

Hermione let out an angry huff that caused the long locks that had fallen over her face to jump outward. She brushed a hand through them absently, forcing her hair backward and into some semblance of order. Pointing her wand at her head, the brunette waved it in a circular motion that encompassed her whole skull. On its own, her hair straightened out the tangles and then twisted upward, wrapping around itself into a tight bun and tied sharply into position with one long lock of her hair.

With her hair out of her face, Hermione peeked out of her hiding place and up at the skies again. She was not having the best of times in the Realm. She had realized upon entering the second time that she had no recollection of her search for _Cor_ during her waking moments and she found this to be one of her biggest limitations. Without the additional time to think about what she would be returning to in the Realm of Dreams, Hermione wouldn't be able to plan ahead. She'd be forced to think on her feet during the more crucial moments of her search and if Hermione was honest with herself, as she tried to be, she was not very good at thinking on her feet.

Hermione was a scholar, of sorts. She'd be wonderful working in some Ministry job that required a lot of researching, because researching was something she enjoyed above all other things. Harry and Ron, her two very best friends, could vouch for her in this, as she had dragged the both of them off to the library on more than one occasion. In fact, having spent some time during the ending days of summer at Hogwarts, Hermione had spent some small portion of almost everyday in the Hogwarts Library, enjoying having the place to herself, with the exception of Professor Lupin – or Remus, as he preferred to be called now – every now and then, and that was fine. Hermione had always been overjoyed not to have to worry about Madam Pince, who hadn't returned to Hogwarts yet, as despite Hermione's love of books, the old crone of a librarian showed her as much disdain as she did everyone else.

Although, she had a special place of loathing in her heart for Ron, Hermione had learned, who never returned _Quidditch Through the Ages_ on time.

Now, however, it was the fourth day that Hermione had been sent into the Realm, and she wasn't have a very good day at all. She had followed the pounding heartbeat in her head that was the call of _Cor_, only to be attacked out of nowhere by Remus Lupin, and then by a gryphon that shot down from the skies more like a bullet than a beast.

Hermione didn't know where it had come from; she was sure that there had been nothing around her but a vast whiteness that made up her conscious comprehension that she was lucid dreaming in a world run by such things. But one moment she was surrounded by nothing but Remus Lupin and a gryphon, and the next, there were two large stone towers that reached into the sky. Hermione had seen Remus disappear, and then the gryphon had dove again and she found cover in the base of the tower.

Gryphons were a prominent hybrid creature in mythology, so even Muggles recognized what they looked like. Their bodies were those of a lion, lithe as all cats, with fur so thin over the creature's body that the muscles were clearly visible. The gryphon's rear paws were those of a lion, while the forelegs ended in the sharp talons of a large eagle. The creature's head was a merging form between that of an eagle – the sharp eyes of a raptor set in the front of the head of the beast, above a long, sharp-edged beak full of gleaming teeth. The ears were long and tapered backward, and the neck of the creature was a great ruff of fur and feathers. The creature's tail was long and very much like that of a lion, but ended in a tuft of feathers, shaped like a blade.

Hermione had recognized the gryphon immediately when he dove toward her the first time, and that wasn't just because she'd read so many books about magical creatures. The species was immediately recognizable to her because Hermione's father had always loved fictional tales of magic, and when she was a child, he would sit by her bed at night and make up stories about a magical gryphon named Armand, who led an army against an evil wizard trying to take over the world.

Now that she thought about it, that was almost too much of a coincidence.

The gryphon let out a piercing cry – half roar, half-screech – and Hermione ducked down into a hollow area within the tower that had appeared behind her. The gryphon swooped low, talons catching at the ground, digging trenches with each great claw and flinging dirt in all directions as it flapped its great wings once and was once again in the sky.

Hermione peeked out of her hiding spot, peering up at the sky. The gryphon was circling like a vulture, which wasn't disconcerting _at all_.

A crimson flash of light struck the stone right next to Hermione's head and she let out a high-pitched shriek of surprise. Bringing her eyes back down from the clouds, she looked toward the other tower to find that Remus Lupin had left his hiding spot. He stood tall, legs slightly parted, with one arm at his side and the other holding his wand straight out in front of him, pointed at Hermione.

"This is your only warning! I don't know who you are… obviously," he said, the last word mumbled, but still carrying in the motionless air, "but you'll go no farther than this! I'll stun you if I must, though I do not wish to." He lowered his wand arm slightly, though not entirely, Hermione noted. "Do you agree to remain here?"

_We have bigger problems right now than picking who gets to _Cor_ and who loses the fight, _Hermione thought desperately, eyes scanning the sky. The gryphon was still circling, but she didn't imagine that would last long.

Hermione stood up and moved out of the hollow in the tower to stand before it, across from Lupin. Her own wand was clutched in her hand, having never been put away, but she kept it pointed at the ground, both of her arms lowered. She didn't want to fight her former professor. For one thing, she knew she couldn't win against him – not in a fair fight. And even if she could, she respected the man far too much to want to hurt him.

As she watched Remus raised his wand arm slowly, however, she knew she didn't have a choice. If Dumbledore's team would have been able to accomplish what needed to be done by gathering the artifacts, then Phoenix would have chosen them. Instead he chose her for _Cor_, not Remus.

That meant she needed to get to _Cor. _And that she couldn't allow Remus to beat her.

And as her friends could attest, when Hermione became determined about something, she always came through.

She was not the fastest caster. Hermione's skill was in her knowledge of spells, not her strength of delivery. So Remus' quiet _Protego_ would have deflected any spell she delivered.

Had she been aiming for him.

"_Ulcero aculeum!" _Hermione cried, swishing her wand in a tight circle as she spoke the first word, and at the second, jabbing the point of her wand right in the center of that circle, pointed at the gryphon.

The light that shot from Hermione's wand was a simple bead of crimson. It rushed into the air and smacked into the gryphon's flank. Whatever sound the spell itself might have made upon impact was ground out by the shrieking roar of the hybrid creature, as its great golden eyes turned toward the two humans beneath him. With a snarl that Hermione didn't know gryphons could make, the beast wrapped both wings around itself and _dove_.

Naturally, this was a perfect technique to distract Remus Lupin from attempting to stun her.

Not so good at helping her to remain outside of the gryphon's interest.

With a screech, the gryphon shot toward her, talons extended and beak clacking fiercely. Gripping her wand tightly, Hermione whipped it toward the gryphon and cried, "_Ulcero Impingo!"_

A wave of power rushed from her wand and slammed forcefully against the gryphon. The hybrid let out a barking shriek as it was blown backward, as if by a great force of wind, and tried to catch the air currents again with its wings. Its hind paws fought the air, slashing claws mere inches above the ground, as it tried to regain altitude.

Lupin cried out a spell – Hermione didn't hear the words, they were overcome by the beast's cries – and a purple light impacted the gryphon's left wing. There was a loud cracking sound as the creature twisted in midair at the force of the spell and tumbled to the ground, throwing up a dust. It rose quickly, but did not take to the air again. Its left wing drug limply along its body, broken.

Hermione felt a pang of sorrow at seeing this. Her first spell against the gryphon had been nothing but a variation of the stinging hex, and the second had been meant to repel the creature forcefully. She didn't really want to _hurt_ it.

With a roar, and ignoring its broken wing, the gryphon lunged from the ground with all the leaping ability of its cat-half, throwing itself at Hermione. She shrieked and leapt away, throwing herself to the ground to avoid those deadly claws. Wishing harm on the creature or not, it didn't appear she had a choice.

"_Flammaruptis!" _Lupin yelled, and a great ball of fire exploded from his wand, shooting like a meteor toward the gryphon. The gryphon turned golden eyes on its new attacker, before snapping its beak open and clamping its jaws around the incoming fireball.

The flames dissipated instantly, and both Lupin and Hermione became privy to the reason gryphons were so popular of guardians. Their beaks were immune to magic.

Hermione, lying on her stomach on the ground, watched silently as the gryphon moved toward Lupin. The creature took slow steps, its golden eyes glittering in what appeared excitement – a thirst for the hunt. Hermione swallowed thickly, trying to keep her breathing as quiet as possible and not drop her wand from a hand slicked with nervous sweat.

Remus called a few more spells, but Hermione wasn't paying attention to the wording. She was watching the gryphon as it moved steadily closer to its opponent, beak clacking on spells, or dodging others. She watched, and she waited, as Remus cast spell after spell, trying to best the creature, and as the gryphon played with its food.

And finally, the beast turned its back completely on Hermione, and crouched low to lunge.

Hermione's wand flashed upward in a second, the words of a spell on her lips before she had properly aimed. "_Ulcero Praetrunco_!"

The crimson spell ripped from her wand, but the gryphon had been warned by her voice. It leapt to the right, and so Hermione's spell missed its flank and instead struck the creature's broken left wing.

The crimson light merged with the crimson blood that flowed from the creature's broken flesh as the spell severed the dragging wing from the beast's body.

The gryphon let out a lion's roar and spun, thick blood flung outward from the arc of movement. Snarling, the beast made no pretense of playing and attacked, leaping with talons extended.

Hermione rolled onto her back in a futile attempt to escape the onslaught, screaming a spell with her wand piercing the air. The bluish-white shield that appeared between her and the gryphon was all that saved Hermione from having her throat ripped out and her body torn apart.

Her heart pounded at the gryphon slashed its talons across her shield, trying to break through the transparent shield to get to her. The beatings the shield was taking made Hermione head ache, but she held fast and the gryphon was kept at bay. It seemed an eternity later, though she was sure it was merely seconds, when a light blue spell impacted the gryphon's head, exploding its right ear in a light spray of blood, feathers, and cartilage. With a roar, the gryphon turned from her and lunged for its unprotected enemy.

Hermione refused to let the shield up right away and simply lay there, breathing heavily, her head and heart pounding in unison. Her hair was in disarray from leaping away from the gryphon and she was covered in dirt. She had scuffed her left knee open and her pants were sticking painfully to the bloody wound. Her hands hurt from catching herself when she fell and she was lucky she hadn't broken either her wand or her nose.

But she was _alive_.

A scream of pain broke through her thoughts and Hermione's _protego_ vanished as she sat up, scanning the area quickly. The gryphon's attention was still on Remus, but the werewolf was down, one of the gryphon's forepaws having caught the man in the chest. The three long gashes across the man's chest were bleeding profusely and he was barely holding himself up on one hand, the other trying to stem the flow of blood.

Hermione lunged to her feet, nearly falling over in her hasty attempt to face the gryphon. She may have respected Remus Lupin as a brilliant man and as the wonderful professor that he had once been, but during the last weeks of the summer, she could also admit that she had begun to count him among one of her friends, despite the difference in their ages. He also meant a great deal to Harry, and _Cor_ be damned, she couldn't let anything happen to the man, even if it meant that _Voldemort_ got the artifact.

Whipping her wand around her head in a wide, vicious arc, Hermione didn't bother to think that she had never tested this spell out before, or that it was one of the most complex Latin-derived spells that she had ever studied. Nor did she consider that utilizing the spell required more power than she herself might have in her magical core, and that it had been known to exhaust witches and wizards to the point of magical core disintegration, and death.

She didn't bother to think. She just _acted_.

Her wand whipped around her head in two wide arcs, her arm moving swiftly, and then she brought her arm swishing downward in a straight fall, before she lifted it against and began making tight circles in the air, impacting each in the center with a jab of her wand. Halfway through these jabbed circles, which would be followed by an intricate, almost immemorizable pattern of wand-whipping and slashing through the air, she began to chant in Latin.

"_O, venit ignis!_

_Adolebit et calefacere!_

_O, venit sulphur!_

_Et impluo consaucio!_"

At the last word, she brought her wand slashing down through the air, the heel of her palm impacting her thigh painfully. Hermione staggered under the weight of the spell, which had been growing, a force of oppressive power, like thunder, which pressed down on top of her, nearly driving her to the ground.

The gryphon, whose attention had been garnered by Hermione's odd chanting, glanced up at the sky at the same time that Hermione did. The beast studied the heavy dark clouds for a long moment, before his golden eyes met her. For a moment, Hermione could see an intelligence in that gaze that eclipsed hers a hundred-fold, and she recognized that she had been tricked.

A moment later, however, her spell's summoning reached its apex, and the sky broke loose. A black cloud erupted in golden and crimson light, a flash of flame exploding downward like dragonfire. The gryphon let out a shrieking roar – not a call of pain, but a battle-cry. The sky let loose with more flames, and great balls of rock flew like meteors toward the gryphon alone. The smell of sulfur filled the air, but Hermione's mind had already begun to drift, dragged downward by the weight of the spell and the power it had taken. The edges of her vision had begun to grow dark as she wondered vaguely about who had come up with a spell that summoned fire and brimstone. Surely they must have been Christian, but then, she never heard of references to religion at Hogwarts – only references to Merlin.

But Merlin wasn't a god, was he?

She never had a chance to ponder her new thought, as her vision entirely blanked out, and Hermione collapsed to the ground and knew no more.

* * *

It was the second day that Hermione and the others had been spending their nights in the Realm of Dreams, but here in the waking world, none of them remembered that. At the moment, Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table with Harry and Ron. They were the only students present, as the Hogwarts Express wouldn't arrive until the following day, but the Great Hall had been set up in preparation for the new term's arrival and the trio found themselves taking up their usual seats.

The Hogwarts house elves didn't seem to think they needed to go any less all-out for three students than for the whole mass – a fact which Ron seemed to be enjoying immensely. His plate was loaded with eggs and bacon, and he was currently stuffing a whole blueberry muffin into his wide mouth.

"Honestly, Ron, that's disgusting," Hermione admonished. Ron, in one of his moments of incredible, if predictable, childishness, stuck out his muffin-smeared tongue at her. Hermione rolled her eyes skyward, pleading help from some higher force.

Beside Ron, Harry was chuckling quietly and inwardly, Hermione smiled. Harry didn't know it (and with that journal of his, it was a trick to make sure it remained that way), but she and Ron had worked with Remus and Sirius before they left to plan a late birthday party for their best friend. It wouldn't be anything grand, just a few friends flooing to the Headmaster's Office to visit Harry and celebrate his fifteenth birthday. Hermione hoped that Harry would be surprised.

She watched her best friend quietly, her inward smile fading slightly as he watching him fight to get a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. The tremors Harry experienced had been coming and going randomly since Hermione and Ron had met him at Hogwarts, but this morning, they were exceptionally bad. She could see Harry's frustration at his predicament with his furrowed brow and the fact that his knuckles were white as he gripped his fork. Still, the utensil sometimes clattered to the table, lost from his grip.

Hermione sighed. She had searched the texts in the library, studying different ailments. And when she had heard Madam Pomfrey's potential diagnosis as being Dementia Pugilistica, she had researched that. There was nothing for her to find, however, that would help her to help her friend. As far as the texts were concerned, there was nothing that could be done to stop the tremors.

As some of the professors came and went through the Great Hall for short breakfasts, Hermione would catch them glancing over at the trio, and the sadness and resignation in their eyes as they saw Harry. As far as they were concerned, there was nothing that could be done.

Well, that just wasn't going to fly.

* * *

The following night after Hermione had faced the gryphon, she was quickly pulling on a pair of pants and her Hogwarts robes. Professor McGonagall had swept from the dormitory after waking them and telling them to get to the Great Hall in a no-nonsense tone. Hermione, wasting no time, grabbed her wand and rushed to the Common Room. She was joined by Ron and Harry only moments later, after Harry showed her his journal and she read what McGonagall had warned him about. The three stayed together as they quickly made their way to the Great Hall with the rest of their House.

The Great Hall was already packed with students. Hermione could see robes embroidered with the crests of both Ravenclaw and Slytherin, but with Gryffindor now present as well, the Hall didn't appear as full as it ought to. She saw no robes for Hufflepuff and thought that they must not have arrived, yet. She was scanning the Hall, looking for the familiar faces of her friends, when she spotted Neville Longbottom talking to a girl from Ravenclaw. When he turned around, a worried look on his face, Hermione waved a hand to catch his attention. "Neville!"

"Hi, Hermione," Neville said, coming over to greet her, Harry, and Ron. The three of them had made it out of the Common Room before him, so they hadn't been close when they'd gotten to the Great Hall.

"Hey, Neville," Ron greeted, with Harry nodding a greeting. "Bit ridiculous, the teachers making us get up at this hour, isn't it?" Hermione shot Ron a look, knowing full well that he had read Harry's journal and knew why they were in the Great Hall.

"Oh, I think they have a pretty good reason," Neville said quietly, entwining his fingers over and over.

Harry cocked his head to the side curiously and Neville said, "One of the Ravenclaw sixth years is a cousin of mine. She said someone broke into the castle and attacked Susan Bones, in Hufflepuff."

Hermione frowned, but before anyone could say anything in reply to Neville, Ginny joined them, along with her fourth year Ravenclaw friend, Luna Lovegood. Moments later, Fred and George appeared and began joking around. Hermione, thinking about Susan Bones, who she didn't know very well but still had spoken to a few times in the library, let her worry get the best of her and snapped at the two of them. "Oh, shut it, both of you." The words of the others did little to placate her concerns, and they were only sidetracked when Harry let out a gasp and suddenly ran from the Hall. Without a thought, both she and Ron took off after him.

It was among the most foolish thing they had ever done, rushing off into the castle well-knowing there was a Death Eater loose.

* * *

When Hermione awoke in the Realm, she was alone, surrounded on all sides by nothing by a great expanse of white. There was no one else present and some part of her was sure that there wouldn't be. She was entering the Realm of Dreams alone for the first time since she had started going there.

_Cor_ thundered in her head and Hermione felt she couldn't bring herself to wait for anyone to appear on the off-chance that her weird sixth sense was wrong. She turned around and started moving toward _Cor_, not realizing that she hadn't even needed to use her _Point Me_ spell to tell her which way to go.

She caught sight of the two towers before anything else. They stood out against the white world that this dream land appeared as initially, poking out like two stony, black sore thumbs. As she moved closer to them, she was able to pick out more of the scene. The ground was littered with debris from the last spell she had cast, the Fire and Brimstone Spell. Scorch marks littered the white floor of the world, pockets of soot and rocks from fallen brimstone meteors. No fires blazed anywhere, but if she looked at some of the areas in a particular light, she could see waves of heat rolling up from some of those rocks.

And there were feathers everywhere, no doubt from the fallen gryphon. Hermione stood between the two towers, looking around. She held her wand at her side as she searched for the beast, but she couldn't see it anywhere. She wondered if it had taken the time after she'd passed out – or woken up, she supposed – to flee and find somewhere to lick its wounds. She _did_ hope the creature was okay. She hadn't wanted to hurt it, but she hadn't really had much of a choice.

The clatter of a rock on the ground behind her caused Hermione to start. She spun around on a heel, nearly losing her balance in the process, but covering her stumble by raising her wand arm swiftly. She aimed her wand firmly at the man who stood behind her.

Remus Lupin stopped walking, standing opposite Hermione with perhaps twelve feet separating them. He had drawn his wand, but he kept it pointed downward, focused on the ground instead of her. Hermione found this curious, especially since there was no way for him to know who she was, but she didn't want to fall for any possible tricks, so she refused to lower her own wand.

For his part, Remus continued staring at her for a long moment, saying nothing. In truth, the action made Hermione a little uncomfortable, but she refused to be the first to speak. She didn't know, either, if her voice would give her away. She suspected Phoenix would be more thorough than that and her voice would be as disguised as her appearance, but it still made her slightly nervous. After what may have been a few minutes of silence, however, Remus finally spoke.

"That was quite a spell you performed."

_Yeah, no kidding, _Hermione thought, but she didn't say it aloud. In truth, she had spent the majority of the day in the waking world completely exhausted. Of course, she hadn't recalled being in the Realm or casting the spell, so she had no understanding as to why she was so tired. She had assumed she might have been coming down with something, since she couldn't blame her exhaustion on schoolwork. Now that she was back in the Realm, however, she knew that the cause of her being so tired had been the spell she cast. She was more than glad that the gryphon wasn't around, because she didn't fancy attempting that same spell again anytime soon.

There wasn't really a whole lot she could say to Remus, of course. "Indeed" just seemed a little too pompous for her tastes, especially to a man she respected so much as a friend and a former professor. She thought to simply say something in agreement, but when she opened her mouth, that wasn't what came out.

"How are you feeling?"

The look of quiet surprise on the man's face was noticeable, as was the pleased expression that took over after his initial shock had faded. He smiled softly at her, in that quiet way he always seemed to have. "Much better," he admitted sincerely. "I assume you mean the wounds I gained from the gryphon."

"Yes. They looked quite deep. I wasn't sure you would be all right."

"I am quite well, thank you. I heal pretty quickly."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose you would." Her wand arm had loosened slightly, so she tightened her grip again on it and made sure it was still aimed quite firmly on Remus. "Now, I do apologize, but I'll have to cut this short. We don't know when You-Know-Who's lackey will be showing up and frankly, I'd rather avoid him completely."

Remus' eyes widened perceptibly. "You weren't sent by You-Know-Who?"

Hermione couldn't restrain the unladylike snort that escaped her. "Honestly!" She bit her lip, thinking that if she went off on one of her rants, it wouldn't take someone as smart as Remus to figure out who she was, regardless of Phoenix's protection. "That…" She couldn't think of an appropriate thing to call him. "Monster" seemed an insult to any of the dangerous beasts Hagrid would consider cute. "He would sooner kill me than grant me any chance to serve him, not that I would ever demean myself in such a way. He's disgusting and cruel, and no, I was not sent by him!"

It looked like Remus didn't know whether to backpedal with an apology at her vehemence or laugh at her ferocity, but he did seem intrigued, despite that. "So there is someone else working to get…" He broke off, looking at her warily.

"I doubt I'd be here right now if not in search of one of the artifacts. You and I are both after _Cor_, and I'm sorry, Remus, but I can't let you get to it first."

The use of his name, although it had taken her something of an effort to use his given name without stumbling and attempting to call him Professor, startled Remus again, and his eyes had grown comically wide. "You know who I am?"

"Quite," she responded candidly, but his surprise at her knowledge gave her an idea. No doubt when they woke up, Dumbledore's chosen seven would report on anyone they ran into, Voldemort's lackeys or otherwise. She'd talk to the others about her idea and seeing about taking it further, but for right now.

"Remus J. Lupin," she stated matter-of-factly, and watched his face as his eyes grew wider the more she spoke, "former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—" Not that such a fact was any sort of secret. "—graduate of Gryffindor House, member of the infamous Marauders—" She _almost_ quoted the elaborate title they'd given their group on the Marauder's Map, but at the last second changed her mind. Not many people would have had access to the Map, and that would have potentially given too much away. "—werewolf—" The sudden flash of fear in his eyes nearly brought her speech to a halt, but she managed to continue without stumbling. Still, she had suitably shocked him with that knowledge alone. "—and one of Albus Dumbledore's chosen seven to infiltrate the Realm of Dreams in search of the artifacts." She studied his expression for a moment, before adding in a quiet voice. "Did I miss anything?"

"You… you forgot dashingly handsome," he choked out.

"Ah." She nodded. "My mistake."

The laugh that he let out was short and slightly hysterical. Hermione frowned slightly. Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to do. If she'd shocked him too much…

"How do you know all that?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

Hermione bit back a smile. Perfect. Her voice was sly and teasing, but kind when she spoke. "Oh, we have our ways, Mr. Lupin."

He looked at her for a moment, studying her in silence. "We?" he asked, and let out a choppy laugh that seemed too short. "Who _are_ you?"

Feeling quite smug at the moment, Hermione grinned like a cat and said, "You may call me Hermes."

She saw Remus roll his eyes. "Of course, you know my name, but you won't tell me yours." He finally raised his wand and pointed it at her, loosening his legs and falling into a dueling stance. "Well, I appreciate your intelligence, that's for certain, but even if you're not working for You-Know-Who, I've been tasked with retrieving _Cor_, so I'm sorry to say I can't let you get to it, either. This puts us at a verbal stalemate, it would seem."

Hermione nodded. "So it would seem." She still had her wand pointed at Remus, but she seemed thoughtful. "Of course, that's another thing I'd forgotten. Thank you for reminding me, Moony."

The look of shock on Remus' face was all the tell she needed. "Stupefy!"

The crimson spell streaked out from her wand before Remus had a chance to recover from his shock and cast a shield. It struck his chest and his crumbled to the ground.

Hermione bit her lip and rushed over to him, her wand held loosely in her hand. Oh, she hoped she hadn't hurt him or anything. She needed to get to _Cor_ first, but she didn't want any harm to come to him in the process.

When she arrived, however, she found that he was breathing deeply, lying on his back with one arm thrown above his head from the way he had fallen. His wand had fallen from his grasp and Hermione quickly retrieved it, lying it on top of his chest where it would be in easy reach once he woke up.

She was glad he was all right.

"_Interesting." _Hermione's head snapped up and she stood quickly, looking around for the source of the voice. It was not the same voice as that of Phoenix, who had spoken to them a few days before, and there was no accompanying wind. Still, however, the voice echoed around her in a similar manner, and there was no physical body from which is had originated. Hermione kept her wand held aloft, however, a fact which would have made her former Defense professor extremely proud.

"_I rather like you, Hermione Granger. You're all heart." _

And with those words, the world around her began to run, like the white of all that she had seen was merely paint that was now being washed away. The white of the world melted to the ground into one great puddle, which began to swirl and spiral in one direction until she felt herself sinking down, down, down into a whirlpool of a melted world.

And then that whirlpool, and the world, and Hermione Granger were gone.

* * *

The Realm of Dreams was only occasionally a land of white for Neville.

When he woke there first in the White Room where the others appeared, Neville saw nothing but white around him. But once he was alone, the white of the world disappeared and Neville began to see people.

They weren't _actually_ there, and yet they were. Images, like photographs, would appear alongside him as he walked, slightly blurred as though by age. They were colored, but the colors were more subdued than those he could see in reality – the color of his own skin was much brighter than that of the people in these images. But as he would walk, the images would start to move, but unlike Wizarding photographs, he would hear the sounds associated with what was happening.

The people in the scenes weren't always the same. In fact, they were often never the same, but as the people changed, so did the style of clothing they were wearing and the tools around them, as time itself progressed forward, as it always does.

The only thing that remained the same was the sword.

It was a long weapon, and Neville was sure it was heavy. The blade was silver in color and seemed to reflect every tiny ray of light that touched it. The rain guard (a small part of the hilt in front of the cross-guard that overlapped the blade) of the sword was embedded with a crimson jewel that shone in the light. From what Neville could see, there was a ruby on both sides of the sword.

The cross-guard, a horizontal part of the hilt behind the rain guard that protecting the hands that would be folded around the grip of the sword, was a shining silver on the out- and underside, but red in the center of the top, which faced the blade. It was still quite shiny where it was red, and so clearly still metal, but the color contrast seemed significant.

The grip of the sword was thick and long, obviously meant to be held in two hands instead of just one. Neville didn't know a great deal about swords, but he had grown up in a pureblooded family and thus had heard the old tales of wizard princes rescuing damsels and claiming them in marriage for their troubles. Because of these stories, he was able to place the sword as being a longsword, due to the length of the blade and hilt. The grip was a dark black in color, striking in the fact that it seemed to glitter, although not so much that it appeared to be infused with actual glitter. It was rather odd, actually.

The pommel of the sword, a round base that sat beneath the grip, was as silver as the blade on the outside, but the inside of the metal sphere was transparent, but glittered, catching every ray of light and reflecting it better than the shiny blade. After a while, Neville recognizes that it was a diamond, perfectly crafted into the exact center of the pommel of the sword.

Unlike the others, who often had to traverse the Realm for days until they came close enough to their artifact to find any interference, Neville had begun to see scenes on the first day they were within the Realm. Unlike some of the others, however, he did not see either Voldemort's or Dumbledore's chosen. The only other person he saw asides from Harry and the others was the man in his vision, and that man changed continually. Whichever person he witnessed forging the mysterious sword, however, they all asked him the same question.

"Will you take up the sword?"

And each time he was asked, the whispers would start again. They were whispers that erupted from his memory, words that he had heard spoken in Longbottom Manor at one time or another. Sometimes, they would occur while he was standing there, and other times, he would be peaking around a corner or hiding somewhere out of sight, listening in.

No one ever had anything good to say about him.

"_Mrs. Longbottom, your grandson is barely more than a squib." _A medi-wizard who had come to the manor to give him an annual check-up two summers before he turned eleven. He had scanned Neville with his wand as he had every year before that, and turned to his gran to inform her that Neville was little more than an embarrassment to the Longbottom name.

"_I don't imagine he has enough magic to be accepted to Hogwarts." _

"_Surely there must be _something_ you can do," his gran said disappointedly. "I know he'll never be half the wizard his father was, but surely you can do something to assure he gets an acceptance letter." _

"_I am sorry, Mrs. Longbottom. Were his lack of magic due to an illness or accident, I could give him some potions to help him regain what has been lost. This is not due to an outside force, however. You grandson simply doesn't have enough magic. I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do." _

Neville pulled back his hand from where it had been reaching for the hilt of the blade. He closed his eyes and turned away. No, he couldn't take up the sword. He wasn't strong enough.

He wasn't worthy.

He glanced back in time to see the disappointed look on the face of the man who had been holding it, before the man vanished in a swirl of smoke and disappeared.

The sword clattered to the ground where he had been standing and lay there, waiting for someone to pick it up.

Neville turned and walked away.

The next person who would fashion the blade, sharpen it, make it better was due to appear. They would take up the sword.

They were worthy.

* * *

Neville woke up all at once.

He stayed still for a long moment, listening. The only sounds that came to him were the snores of his dorm mates, and he released a quiet sigh at the realization that he was in his dormitory and not in his room at Longbottom Manor.

Blinking his eyes open, he wasn't surprised to see that the curtains surrounding his bed were dark, revealing that the sun hadn't risen yet. He idly wondered what time it was, but it didn't really matter.

Sitting up, he quietly pushed his curtains aside and padded out of bed, across the dormitory floor, careful to not bump into anyone's night stand or trip over shoes or robes left lying about. He didn't want to wake anyone else up.

The Common Room was still and silent, the fire in the hearth having burned down to mere coals that gleamed eerily in the darkness. Neville made his way over to the fire and found one of the iron pokers hidden to the right of the hearth. He prodded the hot coals, shifting ash around, and didn't jump when two fresh logs appeared with a quiet crack, settling in the racks and quickly catching flame. House elves could always be counted on to know the simple things people hoped for.

The poker laid across his knees rather than returned to its holder, Neville settled crosslegged on the floor in front of the fireplace. He wasn't allowed to sit like this at home. At Longbottom Manor, one sat in a chair, back straight, head up, feet flat on the ground. One did not slouch, one did not cross his legs or his ankles, and one did not sit on the floor like a dog.

Neville smiled into the flames that flickered lazily across the two logs, merrily burning them at an easy pace. He liked it at Hogwarts. Understand, Neville loved his gran – she had raised him and taught him well, after all – but it was nice sometimes to be out from under her watching eyes. After a while, the continuous staring, the unimpressed noises that told him he was doing something wrong, the looks of disappointment, and the low expectations all became too much for him to handle.

The fact of the matter was, Augusta Longbottom wanted Frank, her son. She didn't want Neville.

He sighed and leaned back against the leg of a chair, gazing sadly into the flames. Knowing that, and being accustomed to it, didn't make dealing with it any easier. Because no matter how hard he tried, he would never be Frank.

He'd always be Neville.

Just Neville.

* * *

"Will you take up the sword?"

Neville stared at the hilt of the blade. The man holding it out to him was dressed in dark brown robes with narrow sleeves with the ends singed from the forge he had been using. His hair was dark and pulled back tightly, tied with a ribbon into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had a Van Dyke beard that included a large, fluffy moustache that curled up slightly at the corners. It might have looked ridiculous on another person, but it seemed to fit the man perfectly.

The dark green eyes that gazed out of the memory were bright with life and stared directly at him, and the expectant look on the man's face was not an illusion of Neville's mind. The man waited with a patience the others had shown for Neville to take the sword, and once again, he considered it.

How easy would it be to step forward and grasp the hilt? How simple a task.

Neville took a step forward, hand reaching.

"_Madame Longbottom, surely you can't be _serious_!"_

Neville's hand jerked back as though from the heat of the forge's flames and not the ready hilt of the sword.

"_I have no reservations, Claudia. He is only child of my son and I am his guardian. I have every right to decide what to make of his future."_

"_But a muggle orphanage? The boy cannot be completely lacking in magical talent, he _is_ of Frank's blood. What happens when he begins showing signs?"_

"_That will hardly be my problem if I am rid of it now." His gran's voice was crisp and direct, as it always was. The familiarity did nothing to stem the ache in Neville's heart. She was sending him away. _

_She was sending him away because he was _worthless_._

"_Don't you think you might be making a mistake? Augusta, he's your grandson!"_

"_My great grandfather swore upon the soul of his late wife that we would never have a squib in the family and I shan't break his promise to her for pity's sake. We'll not have a squib in the family, whether I have to take him to the orphanage or drop him—_

"—_What was that?"_

_A great rattling sound was coming from the kitchen. It sounded like all of his gran's china dishes shaking in the glass cabinet, and Neville didn't fancy hearing whoever it was causing the problem get the sharp end of his gran's whipping tongue. He stood from his hiding spot on the stairs and quickly retreated to his room, where he would be out of reach of his gran's voice. _

_He never did figure out why she hadn't sent him to an orphanage._

Neville's lip quivered and his eyes burned. He clutched his hand to his chest as though it were wounded and he refused to look at the blade still held before him.

"Will you take up the sword?"

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter still to keep out the offending sight of that damnable blade. But no matter how many times he was asked, he never said _no_.

* * *

Neville moved through the crowd of students, looking for a professor. He could feel the sweat coating his hands and his armpits as he thought of Harry, Hermione, and Ron running off into who knows what sort of danger. With a Death Eater loose in the castle, they could encounter _anything_. Neville knew more than he cared to about the types of things You-Know-Who's lackeys were into. It came with being Frank Longbottom's son.

Like so many other things.

There weren't many teachers in the Great Hall. Once the students were corralled into the same area, the ghosts were used as guards for the exits and the corridors beyond the Hall, with the Prefects and only one or two teachers remaining with them. The rest of the professors were busy scouring the castle for danger in an attempt to protect the students from it, and trying the rescue the errant fourth House.

It was just Neville's sort of luck that the one professor left in the Great Hall would happen to be Professor Snape.

It wasn't a jinx that turned Neville's legs to jelly, but it might as well have been. He stumbled to a halt, out of eyesight of the scowling professor, and a shudder wracked through his entire body. His mind ran through a million horrible possible reactions to his news that the professor might have, as the mind is great at doing in times of stress. Briefly, even, he considered that it might have been safer for him to have followed after the trio in search of the Death Eater. Surely, they couldn't be more terrifying than the Potions Professor?

But Neville was here and Harry, Hermione, and Ron were not. He didn't know where they were or where they might have been headed or what dangers they might have placed themselves into this time, because they were _always_ in danger.

And Neville knew they likely needed help.

Swallowing what felt like his entire stomach down through his tightened throat, Neville shook his way over to the Potions Master.

"P-p-professor?" he stammered, upon reaching the man. Snape's head turned toward him with a slow grace, his sharp eyes never wavering, and Neville briefly wondered how long the professor had known he was there.

"What is it, Longbottom? I haven't time for your manner of mayhem, if that obvious fact had escaped your notice."

"N-no, Professor, I, um." He clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling the sweat slide around between his fingers. "The, um—"

"For Heaven's sake, Longbottom," Snape snapped, turning his full body to face the boy, "it's not as if this is an exam! Is there a problem or are you merely attempting to waste my time?"

Neville tightened his fists and willed what little courage he had to the forefront of his being. "Harry, Hermione, and Ron ran out of the Great Hall."

He quivered under the sudden steel in the professor's sharp eyes, his courage fleeing. "Sir," he finished on a whisper.

"And where did they go, pray tell?" The sarcastic wit and impatience were gone. The professor's voice was soft, the edge of it sharper than any blade, and his eyes were slightly squinted in the corners, as though he was running all that he knew through his mind, trying to come up with as many possible conclusions as possible and rule them out.

"I… don't know, sir," Neville whimpered. His entire body was tensed and he wanted to run fast in the other direction. He had thought that Snape's normal teaching expressions were terrifying, but they had nothing on this cool voice which hide so much blade.

"Which _way_, Longbottom?" the professor snapped, turning sharp eyes onto him.

Longbottom jumped, and pointed at the door the trio had left by, before his hands lowered to clutch at himself. The professor turned and moved off quickly, leaving Neville alone to find someone who would cast a cleaning charm upon him without asking many questions.

Snape just scared him so much, but so did everything else. But what else could be expected? He wasn't strong enough to defend himself. All he could hope to do was remain healthy enough to run away when the chance was given.

He hated himself a little more, every time he turned and ran.

* * *

When Neville woke up in the Realm again, his face was still covered in the tears that he had fallen asleep shedding.

He wiped them away quickly, but his discretion was unnecessary. None of the others were present and there was a feeling deep within his stomach that they would remain so. He was on his own this time.

"You will not take up the sword, will you, son?"

The voice was familiar, but too impossible, and Neville spun on his heel, hopeful and terrified at once.

Frank Longbottom stood behind him, healthy, whole, but with a sad smile on his face as he stared at his son.

"Dad?" Neville asked, his voice cracking on a dream.

"Hey, Nev," Frank said, and leaned his hip against a workbench Neville hadn't noticed was there before. In fact, now that he looked, his father was standing in the center of the workshop he had seen in his every vision. And like all the others, the sword was in his hands.

Frank held it by the hilt, however, loosely, the tip pointed at the ground.

Neville frowned, his eyebrows crinkling in confusion. He looked back up at his father's face. "I don't… why are you here?"

"Because you need me to be. You won't let any of the others speak to you, so I came. I told them they should have let me come from the start. You didn't know the others, and your mother always told you not to talk to strangers." He grinned, but it faded slightly when Neville didn't return the gesture.

"Mum never told me that. You were gone by the time I would have needed to know—"

"Even one-year-olds need advice some time, Nev. Your mother wanted to cram all the information she could into your poor head in as short a time as possible. I think she wanted to speed up the learning process so you'd have more time to play Quidditch, but she would never admit how addicted she was to the game. It's a sickness, you know." He grinned at Neville, and this time, the boy's lips did quirk up into a smile.

"There we are. I was wondering where you'd gotten to, Neville. You were such a happy baby. It's hard to see you sad all the time."

"You don't—"

"Just because we can't react when you come to visit us doesn't mean we don't know you're there. It's hard to explain, how separate our minds are from our bodies. We're always aware of your presence, Neville. It's… comforting." His smile was sad. "But don't let us hold you back, us or anyone else. You have _such potential_, Neville. You need to realize that."

Neville looked down, shaking his head. He tried to fight the tears, but they came anyway. "I tried to be like you, Dad, but I can't. I'm not good enough."

Frank huffed. "You'll never be like me, Neville. Stop trying to follow your grandmother's stories."

The tears slipped down his cheeks and he wanted so badly to run away.

"Neville."

He sniffled, but dutifully raised his head. Frank had shifted his grip on the blade and held the hilt out to him.

"Will you take up the sword?"

"I _can't_."

"That isn't an answer. I don't want to know whether or not you can. I want to know if you _will_. When the time comes, when you're needed, when only you can stop it all from happening, _will you take up the sword_?"

Neville stared at his father and wondered at the words. He wanted to ask a million questions. He wanted to know if his father was really here or if this was a trick of his mind. He wanted to know if Phoenix was just playing games with him, or giving him what he wanted so badly just to make sure Neville worked to succeed. He wanted to know if his dad was proud of him, if he still loved Neville just as much, even if he was clumsy and overweight and not good at anything.

He wanted to know if his father would want to call him his son, even if he was worthless.

But he couldn't ask any of those questions. There wasn't time to even answer his father's own question. There was suddenly light, as green as envy, which arched by Neville's head. He screamed and threw himself to the ground as the Killing Curse erupted across the chest of his father and sent the man crashing to the ground.

"Dad!"

The sword arched out of Frank's grasp and tumbled through the air. A spell caught it halfway, and then long, thin fingers were curling around it, and Neville stared into the face of the woman who had twice now wrecked his chances of having a father.

Bellatrix Lestrange sneered at him around the glinting edge of the blade. "Is the wittle Longbottom baby gonna cwy?" She poked her bottom lip out mockingly at him and laughed.

Neville let out another scream, this one of rage and pain and sorrow, and lunged for the woman, planning to rip her apart with his bare hands.

Bellatrix raised her wand with a bored, languid motion and waved it once.

Pain erupted across his body and Neville saw fire _everywhere_. He screamed and screamed and screamed.

And when he woke up in his bed in Gryffindor Tower, he was still screaming, and tears were still coursing down his cheeks, and he was still on fire.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you _so much_ to everyone who reviewed! I very much enjoyed reading your responses to the chapter, and I'm really looking forward to what you have to say about this one. _  
_

**Harry being able to hear Sirius one second and then not being able to the next, when he remembers he isn't supposed to be able to hear, reminds me of John Watson and his leg. **

Watson and Sherlock are lovely. The reason for Harry's odd moment in being able to hear Sirius will be revealed later.

**Will Harry and his friends find the artifacts before the Death Eaters?**

Now, that would be telling. ;)

**Could you please show some of Harry and what he has to face in the realm? It would be interesting, seeing with his terrible luck he usually gets stuck in the worst situations possible.**

He does, indeed, get into the worst situations. Harry's chapter is coming up shortly. Next up is Ginny and Draco, and then the following chapter will be Harry and Luna.

**So, how many days do the kids have left to find their objects?**

The potion given to both Dumbledore's and Voldemort's Chosen is limited to seven days. The kids basically have that long, but even with seven days, they still have to try and get the Artifacts before either of the other two groups do, which could be one day or all seven. Or not at all. :D

**Haha, I didn't notice that Harry wasn't supposed to be hearing them till he thought he couldn't hear. So I assume he is either recovering or it is all just in his head?**

Now, that is the question.

A lovely reviewer wrote a poem about my fic. They didn't log in, so I only hope they'll read this and know I thought it was lovely and I'm flattered.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and to everyone who added _SFLAD_ and/or me to their favs.

Have a lovely weekend!

_Live long. Live well. Write. Read. Dream._


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